


gifts for my true love

by labocat



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Body Worship, Canon Compliant, Curtain Fic, Domestic, Finding home in people, M/M, Moving In Together, Moving to St. Petersburg, Proposals, Top Yuuri, intercrual, introducing yuuri to the russian skaters, talk of victor's parents and backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:58:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labocat/pseuds/labocat
Summary: Among all of the things that Victor has given to Yuuri over the past nine months, Yuuri finds that the greatest gift is one he can give back. Just because they're moving to Russia doesn't mean he has to leave his home behind.





	1. Partridge in a Pear Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Very loosely inspired by the song The Twelve Days of Christmas thanks to a joke on Twitter, each chapter will follow one day in the span of time from December 25 to January 5 and will be tied, again loosely, to the theme of that day in either actions or (non-religious) symbolism.

What to give the man who had everything? Yuuri had racked his brain for an answer, but nothing had seemed appropriate or significant enough to encompass all he wanted to say. Victor was an internationally-recognized figure skating legend who could buy anything he wanted and seemed to hardly consider the cost of things. Yuuri thought back to the mountain of suitcases, all designer, and all without a thought for the expense of suddenly moving to a new country and shipping or purchasing new all he needed. How did Yuuri have a chance of finding a gift worthy of standing up to that?

His face flushed lightly as he thought of the only gift he’d given Victor; the rings were too long ago and too dear to act as a birthday present now, even as he’d trapped himself by setting the bar so high. He’d put them on a payment plan for a reason and even now couldn’t think of anything better to represent the depth of emotion he wanted to thank Victor for, to show his appreciation that Victor was in his life and by his side.

He couldn’t even skate to clear his head because every time he went to Ice Castle, Victor was already there, capturing all of Yuuri’s attention and making his empty hands seem all the worse. Yuuri’s breath still caught as he watched Victor launch into a quad flip, exiting into choreography he hadn’t seen him work on before. He wondered where the steps had come from, the bold, weaving arm movements paired with almost delicate but strong footwork and so unlike the full-body, unified statements Victor had been known for before. The ever-present desire to steal Victor away from the world to keep for himself warred with wanting that world to see this, the newest and most breathtaking evolution of Victor Nikiforov. 

Victor had used his old programs for his return at the Russian Nationals, which had taken the sting out of the competition overlapping with the Japanese Nationals the tiniest bit. Victor hadn’t been there to see Yuuri win his first gold of the season, but Yuuri hadn’t had to compound that bitterness by watching Victor unveil new programs via livestream, with him six time zones away. Victor had gotten to the podium, of course - even old programs from a Victor Nikiforov who had had only two weeks to get back into competitive shape were enough to medal. Yuuri had seen it as proof that he had made the right decision to give skating back to Victor, to urge that return; watching Victor, being unable to do anything _but_ watch Victor made him positive he’d made the right choice.

He stayed back, simply watching Victor glide across the ice and thought about their returns. It would make the most sense for them to move - Saint Petersburg seemed most likely, though Yuuri didn’t know if Victor had employed Yakov for the rest of the season or just for Nationals. The thought of moving, of leaving behind everything they’d started to build, started an uneasy churn in his stomach, but in the end, Yuuri knew it would be the best thing for Victor.

He spent the night online, looking up pages and writing down numbers, compiling sheets he couldn’t print out for fear of waking Victor with the printer older than his career until finally there was a notebook, carefully placed next to the keys, where Victor would only see it once he had had coffee and breakfast and was truly awake. Not that Yuuri thought he could miss the bright yellow folder encasing it, but Victor having just woken up was a spectacular thing: either fully awake and alert and focused, or half-awake and stuck in lingering dreams, no room between the extremes.

And so Yuuri waited, skating figures at Ice Castle before Victor could wake up, his stomach as twisted as the lines he carved into the ice. There was a Christmas cake in the fridge, if Victor didn’t hate the idea. Victor hadn’t been excited about the concept of his birthday when Yuuri had brought it up in Barcelona, so the cake was a double assumption: that Victor would want a cake for his birthday or if he didn’t, would be okay with the idea of a cake intended for friends and lovers on a holiday an iteration of which he’d never celebrated. Yuuri supposed he could eat the cake anyway, but the idea of eating a Christmas cake alone, or god forbid, with his parents, was more than he could stomach. 

So many assumptions, god, he’d made so many assumptions, none of which were assuaged as he saw Victor make his way through the doors to the rink. Victor’s face when he drew near the ice was impassive, and wildly, Yuuri thought that maybe he hadn’t placed the folder obviously enough, or that Victor just hadn’t opened it, thought that Yuuri had thought this was just any other day. He didn’t even pause to put on his skates as he came to stand by the rink gate, didn’t come out to the ice to meet Yuuri, but the ice and cold air carried his words as clearly as if he were standing next to Yuuri regardless.

“Why do you want me to move to Saint Petersburg?”

Of all the questions Yuuri had been expecting, it hadn’t been that one. He still had no perfect answers for the questions he’d mulled over and over in his mind, but he’d at least been somewhat prepared for why an apartment - he thought that one an obvious choice over the dorms, since Victor had sold his old apartment months ago; did he really think he could afford it - he’d stuck to smaller, one bedroom places he could carry on his own, not wanting to impose on Victor any more than he already had; and so many others. But he’d thought why Saint Petersburg to be the most obvious. The stormy look in Victor’s eyes and the chilly tone of his voice startled him.

Shocked into honesty, Yuuri could only answer, “I thought that was obvious...you’ll need a coach, and there’s no one to coach you here, and Yakov is in Saint Petersburg, it would only make sense, and you could coach me just as well there as here and I’m not about to let you leave me behind or let you think you can skate the rest of this season and the next without a coach, and-”

He stopped when he saw Victor raise one hand, head lowered, but when Victor raised his head, Yuuri could see that the storm in his eyes had lessened, shining in an expression closer to the one he had hoped to see from the start.

“And you’re okay with just one bedroom?”

Yuuri flushed and looked down at the ice. “I thought it’d be…” He lifted his head up and looked Victor straight-on. “There didn’t seem to be a reason to find a larger apartment. One bedrooms are cheaper, and unless you think we’d need to host guests, one bedroom is fine for us.” Another assumption, the biggest one yet, but Victor was there, still looking at him, still watching him, beckoning to him, and all Yuuri could do was go, skate to the boards and cover Victor’s hands with his own and seal Victor’s lips with his own. He didn’t want to leave Hasetsu, not really, now that he’d come home and let it feel like home, comfortable and warm, but wherever he needed to go to stay with Victor he would go, as long as Victor would have him.

And judging by the way Victor’s mouth moved beneath his, he would.

“But what if Makkachin needs his own bedroom?” Victor said and all Yuuri could do was laugh, as bright as the look in Victor’s eyes and fall back into the embrace that already felt like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partridges, in the winter, leave their flocks to pair off into mating pairs. Pear trees also symbolize immortality and connection and a desire to not be separated from another person.


	2. Two Turtledoves

That night they ate the Christmas cake, complete with candles Mari dredged up from somewhere in their kitchen. Yuuri hummed ‘Happy Birthday’ before they fed each other pieces and pored over the apartments he had found. He had picked a variety, unsure of what he would want out of an apartment and even more unsure of what Victor would expect. Saint Petersburg was a wealth of different architecture, and while he’d tried to find places close to the rink at the Sports Palace, there was only so much Google Maps and a lack of knowledge of the transit system could do. 

It was well past midnight when Yuuri could feel his eyelids slipping closed, leaning ever more heavily on Victor’s shoulder. But it was well worth his protests against just going to sleep when Victor turned the page and with all of the experience of talking through the pros and the cons and stalemates of the previous apartments, Yuuri pointed to the page and said, “that one.”

The apartment had large windows and a large kitchen, something Yuuri had discovered Victor felt quite strongly about when many apartments had been dismissed out of hand solely on the square area of kitchen counter space unavailable. The floors and details were a dark wood that reminded Yuuri of the lower floors of Yu-topia, and the windows faced north and south, taller than either of them and letting in light to give them a view that Yuuri could tell would be spectacular, even with no pictures. He had no real idea the neighborhood or ease of getting to the rink, but by the way Victor’s face lit up, Yuuri had a good feeling about it.

Even with the time difference, it was too late to make a call and put in their interest, but Victor promised Yuuri it wouldn’t be a problem and sent off a quick email to the realtor listed. Yuuri thought, briefly, that it would have been nice to have had a national hero’s pull when finding and securing an apartment when he was in Detroit; the one time he and Phichit had thought about getting an apartment outside the dorms, they’d ended up passed over in their applications so many times they’d deemed it simply not worth it. Relief won out over the pang of jealousy, though, mixed as it was with the odd joy that he was going to actually be moving in with Victor Nikiforov. Sure, they’d been living under the same roof for the past eight months and in the same bed more often than not for the past month, but the weight of it still settled over Yuuri and he swallowed, reaching out with one hand for Victor’s, entwining their fingers and clutching it like a lifeline.

“I know. I’ll miss it here too,” Victor whispered into Yuuri’s neck, his face pressed into the curve there as if hiding from the papers before them. Yuuri wanted to correct him, to tell Victor that while he’d miss Hasetsu, this was the first time in years it had really felt like home rather than a place he didn’t feel he had a right to return to. That the feeling of home, of pride, was yet another in the galaxies of things Victor had given him. That they could create it in Saint Petersburg.

Instead he said, “we can always come back. We can always come home.”

He found himself standing, up off of Victor’s lap where he found himself curling up more and more often these days, reaching out a hand to Victor and pulling him up, up off of the floor and towards their room, where Makkachin had been keeping their sheets warm. Makkachin didn’t even seem to mind being nudged out of the room so that Yuuri could return to the all-important task of pressing Victor down into the sheets as if to keep the impression of him there forever, for some distant, awful future where he returns alone.

Both of their movements were slow, reverent as hands traced curves and dips and pushed clothes out of the way so that lips could follow, distracting to the point that Yuuri grabbed Victor’s hands and held them to the sheets, shaking his head a quick _no_ before he continued on his own path. Even if the clock had ticked over past midnight, in his mind it was still Victor’s birthday and as such, his turn to show Victor his love.

For his part, Victor had been getting better and better at following his orders and stayed put, only barely squirming as Yuuri kissed down his chest, hands trailing along Victor’s sides lightly, tracing back and forth over the gooseflesh they raised. 

“You’re so perfect,” he mouthed into the hollow of Victor’s hip, like the bones there would keep the secret from the man they belonged to. Like that man wasn’t tensed and ready to fall at Yuuri’s command, straining to hear every word.

Yuuri wrote a love song into Victor’s skin, still hardly able to believe that in the bed where he once looked up at posters of Victor’s face to help him fall asleep and had drawn comfort from the fantasy that they’d one day skate together and be friends, now he looked down at Victor’s face, silver hair strewn over his pillow and blue eyes dark with promise and beautiful in a way his younger self didn’t even dare to imagine. He breathed his joy over every inch of Victor’s skin, worshipping and massaging and memorizing, taking each noise Victor made into himself. He played Victor’s body like an instrument because this song was one he wanted to keep forever and recreate their first spare moment in the new apartment, to make it feel that much more like home. Because Victor was where his home is. He mapped the topography of Victor’s body, ignoring the way Victor writhed on his sheets as Yuuri sucked Victor’s fingers into his mouth, taking care to separate them and lave each one with care. He marveled at every inch of Victor, at the sheer perfection he had beneath him. He continued, wanting to ignore the way Victor couldn’t keep his hips from jerking every time Yuuri’s lips or hands passed his knees, but crumbling inwardly in an outpouring of love at each whimper and “please” that passed Victor’s lips. 

As a reward for the way Victor’s hands stayed clenched in the bedsheets rather than clutching at him, Yuuri kissed praises into Victor’s skin, a litany of them unstopping as he opened Victor up, slow and easy until they were both half-mad for wanting. As he pressed in, Yuuri ran his hands over Victor’s, moving the left to his hip and entwining the right with his own, feeling the warmth of their rings as they rocked together, finding completion and coming home.

Afterwards, even though Yuuri wouldn’t say the words aloud, the way Victor pressed soft kisses into the nape of his neck as he curled around Yuuri let him know his song had been heard and understood. The farewell to Hasetsu and the hope for St. Petersburg still sang through him, warm and hazy, and Yuuri wrapped himself in it as surely as he wrapped himself in Victor’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turtledoves mate for life. Their call is often heard as sorrowful or longing.


	3. Three French Hens

Morning broke with an email from the realtor handling the apartment, apparently too excited to receive a request from Victor Nikiforov to care about time zones or her own sleep schedule. She said that the apartment was available for viewings whenever they were free, with an underlying current of the sooner the better.

“One of us should go and walk through before we agree to anything,” Yuuri said, flipping through the new photos the realtor had sent.

Victor only hummed in response, only elaborating further when Yuuri shot him a curious look. “I was thinking - why don’t we both go and see the apartment? There’s almost a month until the European Championships and another month after that until Four Continents - now would be the best time to move if we wanted to do it this season.” When Yuuri stayed quiet, he continued, “we can make it a week, give ourselves some time to look at other apartments if this one doesn’t work out. Besides,” he said as he reached for Yuuri’s hand, running his thumb over the back of it, “I’d like to show you around Saint Petersburg.”

His smile wasn’t loud or joyous, but the softness and earnestness of it melted Yuuri’s heart all the same, helped by the thought of getting to see the side of Victor that Saint Petersburg knew and how he would fit that piece into the mosaic of reasons and ways he loved Victor. “Alright. It’ll be nice to have a chance to formally introduce myself to everyone at the rink instead of just showing up out of the blue, too.”

Flights turned out to be startlingly cheap for so little notice, so after promises to Yuuri’s parents that he’d remember to call on New Year’s, suitcases started to fill with the necessities of what would be needed in the first wave to Saint Petersburg. Arrangements were made for a hotel to stay in the interim even as Yuuri paced around his room, trying to identify the things to take with him. Detroit had been easy, or so he’d thought at the time, with the knowledge that it was temporary. Furniture had been supplied, and most other furnishings had been passed down from others or collected at the time. It wasn’t supposed to feel like a new home - comfort was secondary to ease of transport and transience.

Even now, he thought he could fit most of what he needed into one suitcase - training clothes and some shirts and jeans didn’t take up so much space, after all - but the thought of all the things that they would need stopped him short. Things like blankets, lamps, kitchenware, they could get and would likely have clashes stylistically over what to get, but the things that would turn an apartment into a home he didn’t know where to start. It wasn’t as if he could take the soft sounds of conversation that always drifted up the stairs from the onsen with them, or the way his father’s laughter and jokes with their regulars echoed, or the smell of the wood polish Mari always cleaned the floors with every morning, or the squeeze of his mother’s hand when she would catch him staring off into the distance. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been homesick the first time he left, but he’d had no one to tell these things to; by the time Phichit joined their rink, he’d gotten good at only pulling up memories that made him smile or made for good stories. But now Victor would know, even without words, what they were both missing, and it would be up to Yuuri to try and make it a home.

It would be a new start, one of so many. 

The next day, with Yuuri packed and Victor promising he could be done in a flash, they walked around Hasetsu, visiting all their favorite places. The castle, the shopping arcade, everywhere, everyone seemed to have heard somehow that they were leaving and wanted to wish them well. Victor’s answers and thanks were effusive and poised, but in English, leaving Yuuri to stumble through them even more flustered than he already was. The town had welcomed him back and even taken Victor in with open arms, reshaping them both.

Finally, they came to Ice Castle, Yuuko smiling through waterfall tears as she handed them both keys, “for when you come back.”

It hadn’t felt strange the last time he’d laced up his skates on the benches here for what he’d thought would be the last time for a while. But this time, Yuuri could feel the weight of Victor’s gaze on him, knew even before he looked up that Victor’s hand would be extended down to him as he finished.

“One last time,” Victor said, and all Yuuri could do was nod and step out onto the ice, where communication was clearer.

As Victor started skating, Yuuri fell in beside him, starting with nonsense and compulsory figures, weaving around each other effortlessly. Then Victor’s movements took on a more rehearsed flow. It took a moment for Yuuri to recall the proper program, but soon he was mirroring the movements he knew as well as one of his own programs. He could tell when Yuuko, always watching, recognized it too, as soon the strains of “Moon River” started over the speakers. Seamlessly, they repeated the lead-in, but this time Yuuri moved forward to lead Victor. No one ever would have choreographed a pairs routine for Victor Nikiforov back in his Junior days, but there’s no way Yuuri would have forgotten one of the first skating programs to use music with words - nor the way he and Yuuko had stumbled over the foreign, English words and their slightly jumbled translation. Nor the way the wistful longing on Victor’s face when he’d skated the short program originally had captured Yuuri’s heart. Victor adapted quickly to skating the program as a pair, and Yuuri couldn’t help but think back to the moment when all their practicing the pair choreography for _Stammi Vicino, Non te Andare_ coalesced. He’d always been aware of Victor, further back than this skate’s origin, but the way Victor trusted him, letting Yuuri lift him and lead him through the alteration of memory, thrilled his blood and caught his breath until suddenly they were stopped in the center of the ice, the strains of the music fading away. 

Victor’s thumb came up to wipe Yuuri’s cheek. Yuuri felt as startled as Victor looked, but he tried to explain anyway. “My skating career was born here...on this ice, with you. I’d always loved skating, but the thought of skating against you, on the same ice, was what really pushed me those first few years. ...decade, really.” He laughed and ducked his head. “So to skate this with you, here, now…this end...” he trailed off, letting his skating fill in the words he couldn’t say, like always. 

“You have to know I’ll skate with you whenever you ask,” Victor said, softly, as he turned Yuuri’s head back to face him. “We’re moving, not leaving. A rebirth, rather than a death. This will always be here.” He grinned, catching Yuuri’s mouth in a short kiss. “Besides, this place is special to me now, too.”

Yuuri was grateful to Yuuko when she didn’t say anything about the length of time he and Victor had been on the ice, and even more grateful to Takeshi as he whispered that he’d deleted the video the triplets had snuck of the pair skate.

“I know Yuuko gave you both keys and we expect you to use ‘em, so you guys had better be back here. Sooner, rather than later. Bring in more business for us.” Yuuri leant into Takeshi’s hug more tightly than he normally would have and didn’t even roll his eyes when Takeshi clapped Victor on the shoulder and said, “take care of him, now. We’ll know if you don’t. And take care of yourself, too.”

Outside, Yuuri took out his key and stared at it against the sunset, willing his eyes to stay dry. Next to him, Victor also held up his key and said, “the first key for our keyrings, hmm?” 

A cycle, Yuuri thought, as he smiled and returned, “yeah. The very first.” As long as he and Victor kept drawing each other to the ice, everything else would work out just fine, of that he was sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three as a number has a lot of symbolism, but it usually comes back to a cycle and changes.


	4. Four Calling Birds

They woke up the morning of the 28th in a panic, before the sun but after Mari had pounded on the door, asking when they’d be ready to leave for the airport, somehow having missed their alarm. Yuuri’s suitcase was standing next to the door, but Victor’s clothes were still in piles, waiting to be put into a bag. Hoping that Victor had at least already gone through the piles and knowing that Victor wouldn’t say no to an excuse to drag Yuuri shopping, Yuuri started sweeping the piles and everything around them into bags, packing clothes around the small boxes he found near the piles to pad them as Victor rushed around behind him. They’d both agreed to only take one suitcase for now, the rest to follow the next trip or be shipped over later, so it wasn’t long until suitcases were closed and they were in the entryway with their bags, Hiroko clinging to them both in a large hug.

“Call, the minute you land in Saint Petersburg, okay?”

“I promise, Mom.” Yuuri had to clear his throat to reply. “It’s only a little more than a week; we’ll be back soon. Makkachin isn’t even coming with us, after all.”

“I’ll have an extra large bowl of katsudon ready for you when you get back, then.” Hiroko pulled back with a pat to both their cheeks and a knowing smile. “Have a safe trip, you two.”

They’d left early to avoid traffic getting in to Fukuoka, but it still took longer than expected to get to the airport. Yuuri still found himself pushing bags at Victor so he could go stand in line to save time as Mari dropped them off.

“I’ve always supported you. I’m not about to stop now - you know that, right?” Mari’s hands twitched, as if to bring them up, even though she didn’t have a cigarette in her hands and all at once, Yuuri rushed forward, enveloping her in a hug as tight as one of their parents’. 

She returned it, just as tightly for a moment as he tried to remember the last time they’d shared a hug. “Just don’t stay away for five years this time.”

“I’ll be back in a week,” he mumbled into her shoulder, a shaky laugh making its way out as she whacked his arm.

“You know what I mean. He’s basically family at this point, and we need to make sure he’s treating you right. Plus, it’s always easier to get news out of you face-to-face - it’s like you don’t even have a phone, sometimes.” Mari laughed at the face Yuuri pulled. “Seriously, did you know I followed your friend Phichit on social media so that I would know what was going on with you? You really should learn from him. Or, you know, just text your sister once in awhile.” She pulled him close again and he breathed in her familiar scent: wood polish, her shampoo, and cigarettes, wrapping it around him like a blanket.

“I’ll try,” he started, but at her look, yelped, “I will! I promise. I really do. It’s not like last time.”

She softened at that and squeezed him tight one last time before pushing him towards the door. “Alright, alright, that’s enough sappy stuff. Go find Victor before one or both of you expires from being out of each other’s sight for more than ten minutes.” 

Yuuri headed towards the door, pausing one last time. “Thank you, Mari. For everything.”

She smiled, slow and wry. “What are big sisters for?” Inclining her head, she nodded to the door. “Now go, have a safe flight before you miss it. I’ll be here in a week to pick you back up.”

Yuuri was still blinking back tears as he made his way towards the airline desk when his phone rang. Fumbling it out of his pocket, he barely looked at the caller ID before picking it up.

“Phichit?”

“Yuuri! Oh good, you guys aren’t on the plane yet!”

“Phichit, what are you doing calling? Isn’t it 6 or something there?” Yuuri was torn between continuing on to find Victor at the Aeroflot kiosk or trying to find a place to stand off to the side and talk with Phichit, eventually settling for the happy medium of pacing awkwardly.

“Since we didn’t have Nationals, Ciao Ciao’s been letting me have practice later in the day! I’ll just go back to sleep after this, but I wanted to catch you before your flight and wish you good luck!” 

A warm flutter started in Yuuri’s chest and he clutched the phone a little tighter. “Phichit, you do know I’m not moving _quite_ yet, right? This is just to check the --”

“Oh, of course! But you remember when we tried to find our own apartment! A little more luck never hurt anyone, especially when it comes to moving! I just wanted to wish you guys the best and tell you to be sure to put me down on the application for a character reference; I promise to only tell them the good things!” 

Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh, especially as his pacing brought him in sight of the desk and of Victor waving at him. “Thank you, Phichit, I really mean it. I’ve got to go check in, but I’ll text you when we get to Saint Petersburg. I hope you’ll be asleep by then,” he added, knowing that if there was even the smallest chance either he or Victor would be posting a selfie once they landed, Phichit wouldn’t sleep until then. Yuuri resolved to take one, no matter how tired they’d be. It could just go on Line, where no one else would see it.

Already exhausted and barely having started, Yuuri helped Victor with the bags to finish check-in and headed with him to catch their first leg. Their first stopover, in Seoul, was thankfully calm, the bag transfer and customs flying by. Yuuri dozed on Victor’s shoulder as Victor listed off places he wanted to show Yuuri once they’d looked at the apartment and had some sightseeing time. He fell asleep completely on the flight from Seoul to Moscow, with Victor slumped against him as well. 

During their layover in Moscow, Yuuri fiddled with his phone, taking it in and out of his jacket pocket and checking the time over and over. At one point, he started to dial a number, before shoving the phone at Victor.

“Maybe you should do it, after all.”

“I thought you and Yakov got along during the Rostelecom Cup!” Victor had taken the phone anyway, but started to dial again, even though Yuuri had already punched in the numbers.

“Well, yes, but asking for a favor like this is different…” Yuuri trailed off, aware he was being avoidant.

“But you have no trouble talking to Yurio, and most people would agree he’s much scarier to talk to on the phone.”

Yuuri shrugged, fidgeting, but before he could say anything, the phone in Victor’s hands went off. Both of them glanced at the screen; Victor shoved it at Yuuri the minute he made out the name. “Speak of the devil - he’s all yours.”

Yuuri rolled his eyes at Victor but picked up the phone. “Ah, Yurio - we were just talking about calling you before we left Moscow.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s why I called; we hadn’t heard anything, and Aeroflot even said your flight was on time, but they always say that and I didn’t want to be stuck waiting for you losers at the airport with only Yakov for company.” Yuuri could almost hear the exasperated sigh from Yakov on the other end of the phone. He somehow managed to keep the amusement out of his voice as he replied, “no, as far as we know, we’re on time. We were late coming in, but we should be in to Saint Petersburg on time, and we went through customs here so you won’t have to wait longer.” 

“Good. Great. I don’t know why I have to come with Yakov to pick you two up, but the sooner it’s done, the better. Just make sure you’re off the plane on time and alive.” Before Yuuri could answer, he heard the beep signaling that the call had been ended and sighed. 

“Well, they’re still picking us up, and from what I could gather, Yurio’s excited to see us and wished us a safe flight.” 

Victor’s eyes narrowed in bemusement before they widened and he clapped his hands delightedly. “Ah, you’ve learned to speak Yurio! And it sounded like you didn’t have any trouble talking back to him either; now all that’s left is to find him some friends his own age!” 

“You’re more than welcome to try and tell him that. I’ll sit back and watch.”

“ _Yuuri_ , so mean!” Yuuri knocked his shoulder against Victor’s, laughing. “No, I’m just right.”

Thankfully, their flight remained on time into Saint Petersburg, so it was only a matter of a text to Yurio saying they’d landed, rather than ten missed calls. Instead, Yuuri dialed the onsen phone line, knowing his parents wouldn’t go to bed until they heard from him if he’d promised he would call, no matter the hour. 

Toshiya picked up, and Yuuri could already feel the exhaustion and first wave of longing wash over him at the tones of his father’s accent. To Yuuri’s surprise, Toshiya asked almost immediately for him to put the phone over to Victor.

Yuuri obeyed, but watched Victor closely as they walked to baggage claim, watching him nod sharply. He still hadn’t said anything, simply nodded along and made affirmative noises at whatever Toshiya was saying on the other end of the line. There was an occasional, “yes sir” or “of course”, and from this Yuuri thought he knew what the conversation was about. But then Victor burst out with, “yes, I wholeheartedly believe Honda will beat out Sagan for the spot on the World Cup team next year” and left Yuuri utterly confused. But Victor was laughing, even though he’d caught Yuuri’s yawns, and Yuuri felt his heart lift with every lilt of Victor’s voice. He thought how they could have weekly calls - more than he’d checked in with his family in years past, unless something had been wrong, but perhaps it was time to change that. 

“-uri. Yuuri.” Yuuri looked up sharply to see Victor holding out his phone, waggling it a little before handing it back.

“Hello? Dad?” 

“Yuuri,” his mother said, her soft voice echoing within him. “I know you’ll make us proud - you always do. Make the decision _you_ want to, and we’ll see you soon.” 

“See you soon.” Victor’s hand at the back of Yuuri’s neck told him what a wreck his voice was, but thankfully, Victor didn’t say anything, only moved his thumb back and forth as Yuuri pocketed his phone and headed to the baggage claim carousel.

Though as they stood there, he thought of one more call he needed to make.

“‘Lo.” Mari’s voice was tinged with sleep, even though Yuuri could hear the sounds of their parents closing up the onsen fully in the background, meaning she was downstairs, staying up waiting for his call to their parents. 

“I. I just wanted to say thank you again, for everything. And that I’m safe. And that I’m going to train hard here and that I hope you’ll come cheer me on again next year at the Grand Prix Finals.” Yuuri saw Victor look up and over at him at this and between the look in Victor’s eyes and the huffed laugh from his sister’s end of the phone, he felt he could fly. 

“Sure. You got it. I’ll go and buy rinkside tickets right now.” Yuuri could feel his breath catch at the sincerity underlying the joke and he squeezed the phone as tightly as he did Victor’s hand, as if the affection could travel all the way back to Hasetsu.

“And Yuuri?” 

“Yeah?”

“You don’t even need to ask. Talk to you later at a saner time.” Mari hung up just in time for Yuuri to hear the starting strains of Yurio yelling at them across the arrivals lobby to grab their stuff and get out here - it was cold and Yakov only had a loading zone spot. They grabbed their bags and bustled out the door. Yakov’s car was spacious enough that Yuuri could lean against Victor and doze as they drove, close enough for Victor to snap a picture of the two of them in the car and send it to Yuuri, murmuring, “for Phichit.” Yuuri’s heart swelled and he turned to press his face more firmly into Victor’s shoulder while around him the sound of Yurio’s voice and the lights of this new city passing in the darkness started to feel just the slightest bit more like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four. _Calling_. Birds. I told you some of these would be cheesy.
> 
> For the sake of this story, Yuuri has a business visa to Russia from competitions and tournaments so that the last-minute departure plans are not a problem. Victor didn't even think to check and assumed he did.


	5. Five Golden Rings

The butterflies in Yuuri’s stomach just wouldn’t stop, the chaos and churning emotions almost as intense as right before a competition as he and Victor walked up to the entrance of the apartment building to meet the realtor, who greeted them far too effusively for the hour of the morning. They followed her up to the elevator and beyond to the apartment itself, Yuuri’s hand instinctively finding Victor’s as she led them inside and he took in the view. 

It was gorgeous, the way the city was laid out below them. They weren’t so high up, but they were at an angle with no obstructions between them and the ribbon of water that cut through their corner of the city. He’d already started thinking of it as their corner, their city - that was good, right? As the realtor went on explaining the features of the apartment, how recently it had been renovated, and all the things that she thought they would want to know, Victor whispered to Yuuri the things that were really important. 

“Even bent over the kitchen counter, you can still see the river. I’m looking forward to christening all of the rooms.”

Yuuri’s ears flushed red, and he hissed, “Victor!” just as the realtor turned back to them.

“Something wrong, gentlemen?”

“No, just telling Yuuri here that the river is the Malaya Neva.” He turned to Yuuri, face entirely innocent as he pointed out the window as if his hand hadn’t just been caressing Yuuri’s ass. “And see, right where the river curves is where the rink is. We could run there in the mornings - we won’t even need to warm up!”

Thankfully, the realtor turned and headed to the next room before she could see Yuuri pinch Victor in the side or hear Victor’s small, betrayed yelp. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes so that he wouldn’t see Victor’s expression before heading through and following the realtor to the other room. The bedroom also had a view of the Malaya Neva, taken to great advantage by the large window. Yuuri could already imagine the placement of their bed, framed by Victor’s many lamps, their glow offsetting and complementing the light of the other buildings and boats on the river. He found himself nodding along as she explained things he didn’t have the first idea about but was utterly charmed by, like the heated towel rack and floors in the bathroom and the proximity to landmarks she rattled off like a tour guide and that Yuuri had no hope of deciphering without Victor. Victor, who was running a hand along the doorjamb back into the living area, reveling in the aesthetic beauty of the apartment and leaving the details to Yuuri. Victor, who seemed to glow in the soft, golden light of the sun that wouldn’t make it any higher in the sky than where it now sat above the horizon. Victor, who raised his head and met Yuuri’s eyes and in that moment, Yuuri would have done anything to keep Victor looking at him like that, in this room. 

He nodded blankly at whatever question the realtor posed to him, knowing that they’d take the apartment without looking at any others, knowing that nothing could compare. 

That ended up working out in their favor: yet another thing being a national hero was good for was that there were no applications or question that an application would be accepted. The realtor had even brought the appropriate leasing forms for them to sign, according to her agency’s knowledge of celebrity whims and money. Entirely too soon, the check was handed over and they were left in a bare apartment, holding two small, golden keys and staring at each other as the realtor let herself out of the apartment. Before Yuuri could fully process everything, Victor had pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of their hands holding the keys, light glinting off of them as well as their rings. It seemed appropriately picturesque, and Yuuri was about to ask Victor to send it to him when Victor chirped, “there! Done.” 

Suddenly wary, Yuuri asked, “what’s done?”

“Our picture! A moment like this had to go on Instagram, especially with the lighting cooperating so nicely.”

Yuuri’s chest contracted with a pang - he’d wanted to keep this moment to themselves, but he did suppose that it would make a good social media post. One more declaration, one more claim to stake in the ground that was Victor Nikiforov’s public life. No one could miss it, the keys and the rings in juxtaposition, and Yuuri consoled himself that only he would get to see Victor so lit by the light filtered through the windows. That was his and only his, to guard jealously or share as he would. He stepped forward to capture Victor’s mouth in a warm kiss, pressing him back against the already tainted kitchen counter briefly before releasing him and shifting to a hug. 

“It already feels like home.” Yuuri’s face was turned into Victor’s neck, but the way Victor’s hands tightened in his shirt then released on a shaky breath told him he’d been heard.

“With it this empty? Hiroko would be sorely upset to hear you say that.” Yuuri couldn’t help smiling at the way Victor’s voice wavered, so he clung to him all the more tightly, laughter eventually bubbling its way to the surface.

“No, can’t you see it? A table there, seats all around it and a couch against the wall. Enough places for everyone to sit.” He pointed to each wall in turn. “Then a bookshelf, next to the window, a TV, then a shelf for all your medals on the other side.” He spun back to face Victor, giddiness fading slightly at the look on his face. “What?”

“And what about your medals?”

Yuuri shrugged. “No one wants to look at a bunch of silver or bronze medals.” He refused to feel ashamed in this moment: Victor’s accomplishments deserved to be displayed, after all. He would just have to work harder to earn his own to display next to them. “We can put your Worlds medals right in a row, one through five.”

“And your future ones will go right above them. All one through five.” The firmness in Victor’s tone startled Yuuri, but a slow smile crept across his face as he remembered their promise. 

He nodded. “That’s right. And I’ll be taking the Grand Prix Final as well, so we might as well put your medals front and center for now.” He knew his career wouldn’t hold out long enough for another five years, but the dream of it blinded him: the shelf, _their_ shelf, medals interspersed so that a casual glance couldn’t tell which was whose, their accomplishments intertwined. 

Victor came over to lean on him, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s waist and placing his chin on Yuuri’s shoulder. “For now. Though we should move it just over there so that it catches the light and shines at all times.”

 _Just like you_ , Yuuri thought, as he reached up to stroke through Victor’s hair with his fingers. He’d have to work hard to make their vision a reality, but in this moment it was tangible enough he almost could reach out and feel the cool glass of the case under his hand or see the glint of light on the gold of the medals.

It wasn’t until Victor’s hand came up to twine with his that he realized the imagined glint of gold was the light catching on his ring. They stood there, hands outstretched to touch the future for a few minutes more before Victor’s phone started chirping incessantly. Yuuri’s started a moment later, a barrage of congratulatory texts and love so full that Yuuri’s heart had no chance of holding it all so he let it spill to Victor, turning his head to kiss him in their new home, already surrounded by dreams and friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is the focal point of the song and I know we have golden rings (I was actually spoiled for choice as to what to pick for golden rings - pirozhki were even on the list at one point). But there are still seven days to go! Plenty of time for actual golden rings to pop up and be important! :)


	6. Six Geese a-Laying

With the apartment settled, it seemed redundant to continue staying in a hotel. Victor had put most of his old apartment’s furnishings into storage when he’d flown to Hasetsu, so they made arrangements for the unit to be opened for them to go through it later that day, with Victor promising they could shop for new things if Yuuri didn’t like something. Yuuri, for his part, had no intention of turning down free furniture - Victor had picked out pieces for his room at Yu-topia and nothing had been so stylistically offensive that he felt he needed to be concerned. 

Sure enough, while the taste of the pieces tended towards the minimalistic, a cold clinicalness that set Yuuri’s heart to aching imagining Victor among them, nothing had to be left behind. He knew the warmth of the wood in the apartment would help in making the apartment feel more welcoming, but made a note to pick up blankets and rugs when they got the chance. 

They moved what they could in the next day, even recruiting Yurio to help and Yakov to direct. Which really meant Lilia was there, giving flawless direction for the dance of furniture and people around the apartment until pieces fit into their proper place.

When the dust started to settle, the apartment looked much closer to being a home. Too many things remained in Hasetsu, but for now, at least it was theirs. 

As the others left, Lilia kissed their cheeks in farewell. “We will, of course, see you at my house for New Year’s tomorrow.” Her voice brooked no argument, but Yuuri had no inkling of what she was talking about, and by the closed-off look on his face, neither did Victor.

“I...didn’t know if we were invited.” Victor’s voice was startlingly tight as he looked back and forth from Yakov, to Yurio, to Yuuri, anywhere but Lilia’s piercing gaze.

“Of course you are. You certainly can’t be expected to celebrate New Year’s on your own, not in a place to unfit for entertaining, and I find it too close to the date for you to have received any other invitation.” The unkind words, said kindly, thawed Victor’s gaze markedly, even if Yuuri still had no idea of what was going on. He had planned to call his parents and sister when midnight struck in Japan, as he knew that even after all this time, they still enjoyed doing their first shrine visit of the year at midnight rather in the morning. He hadn’t thought much of his and Victor’s plans, past being in Saint Petersburg. Victor had said something about New Year’s during their layover in Seoul, but Yuuri had been lost to a doze and the information hadn’t stuck. But the way Victor’s eyes shone told Yuuri all he needed to know.

He cut in. “We’ll be there. I’m looking forward to experiencing a Russian New Year’s celebration.” Victor was still finding his voice, but nodded quickly.

“You’d better be: my grandpa gave me all his recipes, including his katsudon pirozhki. You won’t find a better feast anywhere else tomorrow night - you should feel lucky you’re even invited.” Even if the pride behind Yurio’s brusque words hadn’t told the true story, the warmth in Yakov’s smile, startling in its incongruity with his normal expressions, would have.

Finally recovered, Victor moved forward to clasp Lilia, Yakov, and Yurio in hugs in turn, and Yuuri had to stifle a laugh at Yurio’s initial squirm that settled down into a tentative hug in the force of Victor’s embrace. Victor still didn’t say anything, but the nod that Yakov gave him seemed to say he understood.

Yuuri was left confused even after the door closed and he and Victor were left alone in the apartment again, but it was clear to see that Victor was still affected. He led Victor over to the couch to sit down, gently stroking his hands. “So, what makes a Russian New Year celebration?” 

Thankfully, Victor’s eyes came into focus, rather than drifting further away. “It’s our biggest holiday, typically spent with family and lots of food. As skaters, we only tend to get a few days off, rather than a week or longer, as Nationals just finished and the Euros are soon. Most people still try to go home; Yurio’s never stayed here through the holiday before. It’s usually been Yakov and myself, ever since my parents--” He cut off abruptly, and Yuuri could all but fill in the blanks. Victor never talked about his family in interviews, gracefully leading the subject away from the topic with some anecdote. Yuuri simply squeezed Victor’s hand and scooted a little closer to him on the couch.

“It’s been ten years, but it never gets easier.”

They ended up sitting on the couch, absently staring out the window for another while as Victor clung to Yuuri’s hand like a lifeline. Then, suddenly, Victor stood up, a firm smile on his face. “Alright, let’s finish unpacking what we brought.”

Yuuri looked up at him, startled. “But...are you…?”

Victor simply repeated, “we should finish unpacking what we brought. The sooner we can do that, the sooner we can go down to the market and get ingredients.” At least he looked determined, rather than fragile, but a determined Victor wasn’t necessarily a Victor Yuuri wanted to let loose into the world. 

“Ingredients for what?” 

“Something to bring over to Yakov and Lilia’s, of course! I’m sure he’ll have the Olivier salad already, but a beet and potato salad will be doable, even with what we have here and what will be left at the markets. And bread, of course. And Yakov always forgets the caviar, but Lilia likely would have remembered, but we can still pick some up, and...” 

It all went over Yuuri’s head, but Victor was smiling, joyful and excited, and that was all that mattered to Yuuri. It wouldn’t be hot _amazake_ and grilled mochi on the steps of the shrine, but if they were to stay in Saint Petersburg, he was happy to be included in the festivities.

He stood up to meet Victor with a nod. “You’re right, the sooner we unpack, the sooner we can do that. I can help if you give me directions, or I can prepare something else if it wouldn’t be too out of place.”

The smile Victor gave him could have powered every lamp in the room and everything felt a little more right as Yuuri turned to take care of their suitcases. Most of the clothes they’d brought could be left here, but he wanted to unpack the things he knew weren’t clothes, the boxes he’s padded Victor’s clothes around. The collection of small white boxes turned out to be small mementos - a series of matryoshka dolls, a clock set in crystal, and an egg, enameled and bejeweled, the design picked out in crystals in a pattern that looked like frost spreading across a windowpane - three branches from the top and three from the bottom of the egg. The enamel was a light blue that shimmered with texture underneath the surface, and Yuuri’s breath caught at its beauty as he turned it over in his hands. It was heavy; Yuuri kept turning it over in his hands, partially because he couldn’t bear to put it down and partially because he couldn’t find a stand for it. 

“Victor, do you know if you have a stand for this? I can’t find…” Yuuri trailed off at the look on Victor’s face as he walked into the living area holding the egg. 

“Where...why is that here?” Victor’s voice could have frozen the Malaya Neva itself, putting Yuuri on the defensive.

“It was in a box near your things back in Hasetsu, and since we were late and you were doing other things, everything ended up in the bag. That’s how.” He stared up at Victor, puzzled and starting to get a little annoyed. “Now, do you want to tell me what this is and how to display it, or not?”

“No.”

“No you won’t tell me, or no you don’t want to display it?”

Victor sighed and looked away, out the window. “No, I don’t _want_ to tell you, and no, I didn’t meant to display it.”

Yuuri was already turned around and about to head back into the bedroom, shoulders high up and tense but willing to give Victor space when he heard Victor’s soft, “it belonged to my parents.”

Thankfully, Yuuri had been clutching at the egg more fiercely instead of letting his hands go numb. “Victor?”

Stronger, this time. “It was my parents’. He always said it wasn’t a real one, but mother never cared. She always said it was the most beautiful thing he had given her. Until I was born.” He turned back from the window to look at Yuuri. “She always said the reason I loved the ice so much was because she loved that egg and its pattern and my father so much. She always said we were linked by the ice.”

“Victor…” Yuuri seemed trapped, unable to say anything but Victor’s name, unable to do anything but cradle the egg in his hands that much more delicately.

“These sorts of eggs always have a surprise inside.” Victor nodded towards the egg in Yuuri’s hands. “Go ahead, open it.”

Carefully, reverently, Yuuri found the seam in the egg, all but hidden by the crystal pattern, and opened it. Inside was a single white rosebud on a stem, enamel inlaid with chips of emerald and opal. “Again,” Victor said, and Yuuri, unable to do anything but obey, unable to even breathe, split the rosebud apart at its seam.

Nestled inside were two plain gold bands. 

Yuuri looked up sharply, eyes flicking back and forth between the treasure in his hands and Victor’s face, eyes wet with tears that sparkled like the crystal patterns on the outside of the egg. Even more beautifully, in Yuuri’s opinion.

“Those were their wedding rings. They were returned to me...after…” Victor still couldn’t finish and Yuuri had a flustered moment where he tried to put down the egg, rosebud and rings and all, and had to promptly settle it on the couch to keep it from rolling anywhere. He gathered Victor up in a tight hug, steadying him through the shakes of his shoulders, rubbing his hand along Victor’s back until Victor was only clutching him tightly instead of needing him as his sole support. 

“We’ll put it in a place of honor, right in the middle of a display shelf.” 

Victor nodded slowly, drawing back from Yuuri’s arms and turning to look about the room. He sighed deeply. “You’re right. They would have liked that - it was always meant to be displayed. It was just rare that I could stand to look at it.” Yuuri took Victor’s hand, offering silent support as they both turned to look at the opened egg on its pillow on the couch, not knowing what else to do or say but watch Victor's eyes glisten. 

“My mother said that the rings were meant to be passed down. It’s why I put them there when I got them back. To keep them safe.” Yuuri almost missed the way Victor’s eyes flicked down to his right hand and the ring there, the plain gold band thicker than the ones in the rosebud. 

And all at once, Yuuri knew what to give Victor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of notes this time!
> 
> The egg described here is a Faberge egg that is a cross between the [Nobel Ice egg](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nobel_Ice) and the [Rosebud Egg](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosebud_\(Faberg%C3%A9_egg\)). Please look up the other eggs in the collection, they are gorgeous and the Faberge Egg Museum is in Saint Petersburg!
> 
> Russian New Years is a giant celebration typically spent with family until midnight on the Eve. Saying there is lots of food is often an understatement.
> 
> Which brings me to my last note: the next update, Seven Swans, is likely to be late. I'm travelling back home in the morning, which will take up all day, so between that and the amount of things I want to accomplish in this next chapter, it's likely to go up quite late tomorrow or (more likely) the next day. Eight is also likely to be a big one, but I will do my best to make up time in Nine and Ten (which, if everything goes to plan, should be smaller).  
> (actually there's one last note; the proper chapter will be tied to eight and the meaning of eight magpies and the New Year, but if there's interest, there may also be a side chapter that is tied to "milking" instead because Victor crying, especially from overstimulation, is a beautiful thing)


	7. Seven Swans a-Swimming

The morning of New Year’s Eve broke softly, as Yuuri was learning was typical for winter mornings in Saint Petersburg. He’d slept lightly, as he always did the first night in a new place, hotel rooms with their same impersonal feel notwithstanding. The room was still mostly bare of furnishings and Yuuri could see snow from their window, but the thick comforter Victor had had in storage added to the radiant heating of the room to make it comfortable. Not to mention Victor’s arm, slung low and tight and warm across Yuuri’s hips, pulling Yuuri snug against his chest. Victor radiated heat and instead of squirming away from it as he often did when it became too much, Yuuri sighed back and relaxed into it, turning gently to watch Victor. He stirred slightly as Yuuri moved, but settled back into sleep shortly, leaving Yuuri free to watch him, soft breaths stirring the pieces of hair that fell across his cheek. Yuuri couldn’t help but reach out and push them of the way so that Victor wouldn’t be disturbed by the tickling strands and so that he could better watch his sleeping face, close enough that he could still make out every detail without his glasses. 

The strands caught the light as he moved them, slipping silver through his fingers and complementing the way the light caught on Yuuri’s ring. He stared at it, heart starting to race as he thought of the night before, of New Year’s and family, of Victor’s parents’ rings and of their own, the promise in front of the cathedral in Barcelona and Victor’s comment at the restaurant, raising the stakes and meeting Yuuri’s every desire. The desire for Victor, for skating, for gold, had become so intertwined and twisted in his head and his heart until he knew he had no hope of cutting himself free. And, staring down at Victor, together in a bed that was theirs, the beginnings of a home together, he never wanted to let go. 

Overcome, he leant in and pressed a kiss to Victor’s shoulder, following the line of his arm as it lay against his side. There was a sleepy murmur above him, but Yuuri continued without pause, shifting to keep lying on top even as Victor rolled onto his back, one arm still around Yuuri.

Irresistible. Yuuri had always been drawn to Victor and his skating, like a moth to the flame, but in the soft light of morning, curled around Victor and Victor curled around him in kind, there was nothing that could draw him away, even as he could feel himself falling faster. Leaving one last kiss to Victor’s wrist, he moved to press a line of kisses down his chest, feeling Victor shift and settle beneath him as he followed the trail of light hair down, down to where he could feel Victor starting to harden against his hip.

It was unhurried, from the slight movements of Victor’s hips to the way his hands kneaded the sheets rather than clenched them, and Yuuri’s pace was no different, soft and slow, wanting to draw out the moment and capture it in his mind forever, rather than bring Victor off quickly. Every small breath, every twitch of Victor’s leg, every noise Victor bit back was catalogued, deep in Yuuri’s memory so that he would never forget this. He drew it out for as long as he could, holding Victor on that hovering, quivering edge, but all too soon Yuuri could only swallow and pull back slightly, softly licking Victor clean as they both sank back into the sheets.

Lazily, Victor’s eyes opened and he regarded Yuuri from under lidded eyes with a slow smile. Yuuri only tilted his head, letting it rest against Victor’s hip from where he was as he returned it, equally slow and soft and utterly satisfied.

“Good morning.” The push of Victor’s hand through Yuuri’s bangs and hair was soothing and Yuuri leant into it, relishing the feel of Victor’s palm against his face, against his lips as he turned to kiss the skin there, the cool, dry skin a welcome contrast. 

“It certainly is now.” Victor chuckled as he pulled Yuuri up for a kiss. “I know the view from the bed was a factor in picking the apartment but I never expected it to be quite this nice.” Yuuri laughed against his mouth before pushing away.

“You already got off, there’s no need for flattery now.” A groan, as he rolled out from under the bed covers, the cooler air not yet quite welcome. “Come on, we need to get ready. And I really need to brush my teeth,” he laughed as he tried weakly to shake loose the grasp Victor had on his wrist, tugging Yuuri back under the covers. 

“There’s always need for flattery when it comes to you.” The brush of Victor’s lips against his fingers still brought a blush to Yuuri’s cheeks, especially as they lingered over the band there, breath fogging over the cool metal. “Always.”

Unable to tear his eyes away from the intent look in Victor’s own, Yuuri could only swallow against the tight feeling in his throat and chest, knowing his eyes betrayed him far too well by the way Victor’s softened before he broke it to kiss Yuuri’s ring again.

“Go,” he said, softly, as he released Yuuri, and even despite leaving the warmth of the comforter, Yuuri felt warm. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but snort a little at that, knowing far too well that wouldn’t happen, but made his way to the bathroom to start preparing for the day with a final fond smile over his shoulder at the way Victor had already burrowed back down under the covers, clinging to sleep for as long as he could.  
Once they were both awake and moving, the slow ease of the morning gave way to a much more frantic pace as Victor threw out instruction after instruction on all the things they needed to complete before going over to Lilia’s that evening. Yuuri, utterly unaware of whether or not Victor was being needlessly worried, could only go with it and only stop him at the truly ridiculous suggestions. 

“Victor, we are not bringing a _tree_. If what you’ve told me is true, they will already have a tree, and if what Yurio has told us about Lilia is true, it will be a beautifully decorated one and anything we bring will just be in the way.”

Thus they appeared on the steps of Lilia's building, arms laden with dishes and bags of more food but, thankfully, treeless. They now lived in the older part of the city, but even on the other side of the Bolshaya Neva, the elegance and extravagance of the architecture and details left Yuuri staring and reeling. It was an apartment in the old sense of the word - a grand suite of rooms within a grander building, and not for the first time, Yuuri wondered just how wealthy Victor had grown up, to not balk at the sheer scale of it all.

“Ah, good, you came. With food.” Lilia blinked, just once, at the amount of food they bore before stepping back to let them in with what was as close to a smile as Yuuri had seen her come. “Yakov and Yuri are in the parlor; you can leave the food in the dining room.” They shook off the snow from their coats, both with practice, but Yuuri with hesitant care and Victor with barely restrained energy. He’d moved towards what Yuuri assumed was the dining room with haste, leaving Yuuri to scramble with his own burdens, marking what door Victor had gone through and hoping he wouldn’t get lost. From behind him, he heard a soft laugh over the shutting of the door. 

“I thought he would need this.”

Quizzically, Yuuri turned back to regard Lilia, who was staring at the door through which Victor had disappeared with an expression Yuuri couldn’t catalog. “I don’t know him as well as Yakov does, but there are only so many times you can listen to a man talk about his protege without absorbing some details of his being, and from what I gathered, New Year’s was always his favorite.”

Yuuri looked at the door as well, as if expecting Victor to come back through it, his heart starting to clench in his chest. He supposed Victor had said something to him in the airport about New Years, but there hadn’t seemed to have been any urgency or plans or importance, other than a fact he thought Yuuri should know. Nothing like the tight expression from yesterday or the way it had resolved into open joy today. He’d almost kept Victor from that.

“There.” Lilia was looking at him, now, seemingly pleased, but at what, Yuuri hadn’t the slightest idea. “That’s exactly what you need. And what he needs as well.” She moved forward to grip his shoulders and kiss his cheek, the greeting Victor had rushed past. “Happy New Year, Yuuri, and welcome.”

Yuuri stared at Lilia as she disappeared through a different door than Victor had - the parlor, he assumed - before collecting himself and moving towards the dining room to drop off his food: a bag full of dark bread, a bowl of salad, bottles of champagne that still brought a flush to his cheeks as he thought of how Victor had teased him while buying them, and mandarin oranges. His eyes had lit up upon seeing them at the market, a familiar sight that only seemed more perfect as Victor told him they were common at New Years celebrations here as well. Next year, he promised himself, next year he’d know where to get mochi and soba. There hadn’t even been a thought that situations could have changed by the next year.

Victor hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Yuuri that the amount of food they were bringing wouldn’t feel excessive once he saw the rest: the entire table, long enough to seat at least twelve comfortably, was covered in plates and bowls, each carrying vast amounts of food and dishes he could only guess at. He somehow found a place for the things he had brought in, nudging items here and there to make more room.

“Oi, Katsudon. Get in here so we can start, already. How long does it even take to drop off some food?” 

Yuuri followed Yurio through the open door to the parlor where he quickly realized he’d only seen a small fraction of the opulence of the apartment at New Year’s. Yurio’s cat, whom he recognized from Yurio’s Instagram posts - Sofia, if he remembered correctly - was curled underneath a small but brightly decorated tree. Which, he realized with a jolt of horror, had a small pile of presents underneath it. 

He was still staring at the presents and the tree as Victor came up to usher him further into the room with a glass of champagne and a hand at the small of his back. 

“You know you only get one of those now and one at midnight, right? I’m not letting you make a fool of yourself and us in my own house.” Yurio’s voice cut through his daze, and Yuuri could feel his face heating up for what surely wouldn’t be the last time that night.

“Don’t worry, Yurio, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time to try and get your dance battle revenge now that we live in the city.” Victor was laughing and Yuuri cradled the warmth of it close to his chest, a warm fizz not unlike the champagne in the glass he held.

“That’s not what I meant! Who’d want to get dragged into another dance battle like that, much less _start_ one?”

“Well, I would, for one.” The flush deepened as Yuuri felt Victor lean over and kiss the top of his head, Victor’s laughter at Yurio’s splutter of indignation ruffling his hair.

“Ugh, you guys are so gross. You’d better keep your hands to yourself on the rink and spare us all your displays.”

“Oh Yurio, so young. Just you wait, when you fall in love, we’ll be sure to return the favor.”

“Well you’ll be waiting forever, because I’ll make sure I’m never as gross as you two.”

“Is that a blush I see? Is there someone you might have in mind? Yurio, how could you keep this from us; I feel so betrayed! Yakov, Lilia, did you know anything about this?”

The two who had been watching the exchange with thinly veiled amusement merely shrugged.

“Come, let us start. There is much to eat and much to be thankful for.” Lilia beckoned them over, shutting down the teasing with practiced ease. 

Yuuri sipped his champagne slowly, wanting to watch and observe this Victor. He’d had Victor all to himself for so long and had seen him so open and at ease, so different from the poised international figure skating legend he’d grown up knowing. He had been at ease with Yuuri’s family, reflecting the love the Katsukis had shown him, but watching him here set the butterflies in Yuuri’s stomach to new flights. They’d all been speaking in English in deference in Yuuri’s presence, slipping every now and then into a phrase in Russian that they would do their best to translate, always including him. This was Victor in his own home and with his own family, and a sight that Yuuri was looking forward to seeing again and again, eventually in their own home. A place where Victor could laugh and be impulsive, joke and feel comfortable, shooting Yuuri warm gazes and pulling him ever tighter into his orbit. 

As the night wore on, dishes and courses moving from the dining room to the parlor, Yuuri pulled Yurio into the corridor outside. Even though the comfortable haze of too much food and champagne and the last round of vodka Yakov had pushed into everyone’s hands, he couldn’t chase away the unease he felt every time he caught sight of the tree.

“What’d you call me out here for? It better be important and not just about Victor or dragging me shopping - he already talked to me about that and I already said not a chance in hell - otherwise I’m turning around.”

“Yurio...was...was I supposed to bring gifts?”

Emotions flicked across Yurio’s face, confusion, surprise, pity, then exasperation. “Well, _yeah_ , it’s kind of part of the point of New Year’s. You mean Victor didn’t tell you?”

“We didn’t have a lot of time yesterday or today to do much or get anything.”

Yurio sighed, crossing his arms in front of him. “No one would’ve expected you to bring anything anyway, since you could have only learned from Victor. He would’ve already sent Yakov a gift, not knowing where he’d be tonight, but you’re probably off the hook. Just get them something really nice for next year and look extra appreciative when you get a gift tonight.”

“Should I...should I have gotten something for Victor?”

“Idiot, you gave him home and family. That’s probably enough in anyone’s mind.”

Yuuri nodded slowly, but he knew something showed on his face by the way Yurio took a deep breath. “If you really wanted to give him something else, though, do it on the 6th. Our Christmas is a little different, but a gift wouldn’t be out of place then. If that’s it for your questions, I’m going back inside before your idiot coach gets any ideas.” With that, he turned to go back into the parlor, but Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to follow.

He stood there in the foyer, staring at the elaborately patterned wallpaper that ran the length of the hall. Six days. He had six days to figure out how he wanted to propose to Victor properly.

“Yuuri? What are you doing out here?” Victor’s head popped around the door to the parlor, watching Yuuri curiously once he saw that Yuuri was neither hurt nor in distress.

“Nothing, just thinking. And walking off the vodka - I don’t know if I can take any more of that.”

Victor chuckled, low in his throat as he came out to join Yuuri in the foyer. “Yakov always did make a strong drink. Though I wouldn’t mind seeing you loosen up a bit again.” He leant in to nose at the skin behind Yuuri’s ear, making him shiver.

But, before they could get further or Yuuri could ponder the exquisite horror of making out in his lover’s coach’s ex-wife’s foyer, they were interrupted by Yurio’s cry of, “I’m sure you two are being disgusting out there, so get your hands off of each other and come in here, it’s almost midnight!”

Yuuri pulled away with a laugh, Victor’s face and glare in the direction of the parlor setting him to laugh even harder.

Yurio, Yakov, and Lilia were crowded on the balcony, looking out over the city while the president’s address played over the radio in the background in lieu of a close television. Yuuri and Victor grabbed glasses of champagne - far more than either of their second, but it had been a long night filled with enough food to balance it out - and joined them. Around them rose a count, and Yakov raised his glass. 

“To the new year and all the happiness to be found in it.”

“To the new year,” they all echoed, clinking glasses as the count fell to “one” and cheers sprang up. Yuuri felt Victor’s hand slip into his and he turned instinctively, expecting a kiss. But Victor only stared at him, watching him as fireworks started going off across the city. 

“Victor?”

“Mmm, it’s nothing. Just thinking about all the happiness this next year will have to bring to surpass this one.” Yuuri could feel his face heating up, even before Victor leaned in to finally kiss him. It was a quick kiss, but he didn’t pull out of Yuuri’s embrace so they stood, arms around each other, as they watched their new city ring in the new year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swans mate for life!


	8. Eight Maids a-Milking

It turned out that 1pm looked a lot like 10am when it came down to it, the sun still hovering low in on the horizon, even halfway through its journey through the sky. However, even with the truly staggering amount of vodka Yakov had passed them throughout the night - Yuuri had never questioned why Minako had picked Victor as her preferred drinking partner, but now hoped she and Yakov never had a chance to drink socially - and waking up while it was still dark to gulp down some water, among other things, Yuuri felt fairly refreshed. The thought of all the food Lilia had sent them home with was a welcome one and a motivating factor in poking a hand out from under the covers. He inhaled sharply, drawing it back and turning to curl into Victor. While nowhere near what he was sure the outside temperatures were, their bedroom air was hardly welcoming outside of the covers. He racked his brain for memories of turning the heat back up from when they’d turned it down to leave, but everything was a mess of vodka and kisses, laughter and skin, Victor’s eyes and fireworks, trying to decide which shone brighter.

“Cold?”

Yuuri only nodded assent, tucking his feet in between Victor’s legs, which didn’t have the same vicious vindication with sleep-warm skin as it did when he first clambered under sheets, limbs still cold from the night air, yet still carried the same comfort that always came with tucking himself along Victor’s side like a puzzle piece. 

“I can think of a few ways to warm you up.” If it hadn’t been so soft, Yuuri could have called Victor’s tone salacious, but the almost questioning edge of it flipped his heart on its axis, which, as always, revolved around the man in front of him. He nodded into Victor’s chest again, before stopping, tensing, and letting out a reluctant groan.

“One of us really should get out and turn the heat up; we can’t stay here forever.” Yuuri had even untucked his feet, preparing to make a determined dash for where he remembered the thermostat being and looking around for the extra blanket that they’d somehow kicked off in the middle of the night, but Victor stopped him with one hand running up and down his back and a kiss pressed to his temple.

“I wish we could. I would, in the blink of an eye.” Before Yuuri _could_ even blink, Victor had slipped out from under the covers, the warmth fading too rapidly. The fantasy of staying here, of burrowing under the covers until spring came, until slipping out of the covers without heat was less daunting, teased at the edges of his mind. Letting the world slip away, no thought for anyone or anything but what they would find and create here, together with Victor. 

Realistically, he gave it two days before one of them or the other missed the ice enough to brave whatever conditions Saint Petersburg could toss at them. Especially since they hadn’t set up their internet or cable fully yet. But the idea, a softer version of it, caught at his mind, even as Victor jumped back under the covers to the background noise of the heat turning on.

“Ah, your feet!” Even with rugs down, the feet that slid between Yuuri’s calves had chilled to the point of feeling closer to blocks of ice than a human appendage, and even Victor’s arms as he wrapped them around Yuuri were considerably colder. 

“Warm me up, Yuuri. So cold!” Yuuri was sure it was intended to come out petulant and teasing, especially as Victor repeated it in Japanese, burrowing deeper into the covers and into Yuuri’s arms, but he could still feel his heart melt and his blood start to race at the pleading tone.

“There,” he said, wrapping his arms more firmly around Victor and turning them both to their sides. “We won’t forget to turn up the heat again.” Knowing, all the while, that there’d be a repeat the first long practice they had, their minds more on a light dinner and sleep and balms for their feet than on the heat and easing the chill from the rink that had set into their very bones. There’d be no more time for indulgences like these with others, other coaches, other skaters counting on them and marking their absences. So Yuuri sighed into Victor’s shoulders and let himself be held tighter, wishing for more, as greedy as it made him feel. He felt like he’d never stop wishing for more when it came to Victor, even as each moment made him feel like he’d never be luckier.

Victor had rolled in his arms, facing away from Yuuri so that he could more securely tuck Yuuri’s arms around himself. Yuuri went willingly, curling close around Victor’s back and only huffing a small laugh across the back of Victor’s neck as he felt Victor’s hips start to move, slowly but continuously, against his own.

“Tease.”

“I don’t think you’re the one that gets to say that.” Yuuri could hear the pout in Victor’s voice and conceded him the point, considering the way he’d had Victor laid out beneath him earlier, during an hour when all he’d known was that it was dark and quiet and the sight of Victor coming untouched was like a benediction for the new year. The tears and way Victor had begged him to stop teasing, a litany of words in Russian in which he couldn’t separate the endearments from the curses and pleas stuck in his mind.

“Alright, then what do you plan to do about it?” He skimmed his hand down Victor’s side, dancing along the border between skin and waistband, not dipping lower out of deference to the way Victor must still be sore and sensitive. But to his surprise, Victor leant over to pull the lube from the bedside drawer to slick the inside of his thighs, a clear invitation that made Yuuri’s mouth go dry as his hand tightened on Victor’s hip. Victor had always come first in his mind, his own pleasure often an afterthought in the face of Victor open and trusting before him. 

Wordlessly, pressing his overflowing love into the skin behind Victor’s ear, where he knew the words he couldn’t say would be understood, Yuuri slid himself between Victor’s thighs, the tight, slick press there perfect to the point that he was sure he wouldn’t last long. 

He was right, as Victor shuddered beneath him at the friction that was still too much, even indirectly, he couldn’t hold on for long and came quickly, too quickly for how much he wanted to hold onto the moment. 

A helpless laugh escaped him as Victor declared, “well, neither of us are cold now.” He flung one hand out of the covers, half exasperated, half to test the temperature now that he could no longer hear the heater working. The prospect of cleaning up and of food, as his grumbling stomach reminded him, was appealing enough to combat the definitely warmer but still not ideal temperatures.

He nudged Victor with one foot. “I’ll get up if you do. Last one to the kitchen has to peel all the oranges.”

Then it was a race, the two of them slipping and laughing as they knocked one another out of the doorway in a rush towards the kitchen and leftover pelmeni, Yuuri almost losing as he ducked back to grab the blanket from the floor but regaining the lead as Victor misjudged whether or not he could leap over the couch, his vault turning into a flop back onto the cushions, laughing too hard to sit up and try again. It wasn’t so much that Yuuri minded peeling the oranges, but the allure of being able to smell them, a memory of his own home, lingering on Victor’s hands long into the rest of the day was too strong for him to lose. 

They sat, eating their pelmeni and oranges, watching something they’d forget in a few hours, feet tucked around each other and under blankets and before the movie could finish, the sun started to slip back down below the horizon, reminding Yuuri of just how short the days here were. The lamps Victor surrounded himself with had seemed practical and he’d understood from an academic standpoint that winter in Saint Petersburg was cold and long and dark, but he hadn’t understood until the light illuminating Victor was gone and he wanted it back, desperately.

“I wish we could stay like this, always.” Yuuri hadn’t even intended to say the words aloud, but Victor’s head jerked up and towards him, blue eyes pulling him in like always. 

Victor looked at him curiously, as if trying to figure out what about leftover pelmeni and lousy Netflix was worth keeping close, but his mouth softened into a smile, always indulgent for Yuuri. “As long as you want. Always.”

 _And what if as long as I want is forever? What if I never want to let you go?_ Yuuri didn’t say, instead blushing and looking back down at his bowl at his own silliness. But as he lifted his head, Victor was still watching him, not having turned back to the movie and he almost asked, there and then, only biting down his words right before his lips formed them, knowing Victor deserved better than a proposal over blankets and cold feet but so eager for it, eager to tie their lives together, without any more doubts.

Soon, he told himself, leaning forward to link their hands and giving Victor a steady smile and said out loud, “always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, more introspection and lazy domestics; I promise there will be more "action" in the next few chapters as the New Years holiday ends for the skaters, but my symbolism for this chapter actually comes from an all-bird version of the song that uses magpies instead of maids. And according to the One for Sorrow verse, eight magpies are for a wish! Also after this we're back to a little more direct symbolism, so notes will be fewer.
> 
> I left myself room for the prostate milking, but that will definitely come later when it does happen and will be posted separately, so if you see this become a series, that's all it is.


	9. Nine Ladies Dancing

Even though the day after New Year’s was still a holiday for most people, Victor assured Yuuri that the Yubileyny Sports Palace would not only be open, but starting to welcome the trickle of skaters back to their training.

“Yakov and Yurio will be there at least, and Georgi is likely if he hasn’t found a new girlfriend to spend the holiday with. Which would be fast, even by his standards, but anything’s possible. But it will be a good time to get you introduced to the rink before everyone comes back.” The itch of wanting to get out on the ice sparked under Yuuri’s skin, echoed by the undercurrent of longing he could hear in Victor’s voice. It hadn’t even been a week since they’d last skated, their farewell to Ice Castle, but he supposed the desire for the ice would never cease. He’d thought about it before, what he’d do when he retired and the ice held memories instead of ambition and possibilities and how often he’d return to it. But now that was far away, as far as he and Victor could push it for now, and Victor was wrapping a scarf around his neck and leading him onward as they opened the door to head out into the January weather.

Victor had been right when he’d said that the rink was close; the walk, a little over two kilometers, would go even faster at a run, but for now Yuuri took the opportunity to mark the restaurants and shops that made up their new neighborhood. Across the Tuchkov bridge loomed the complex, the sight of which started Yuuri’s stomach to roiling. He almost didn’t notice Victor take his hand to give it a squeeze, which he only returned after a moment before drawing it back. This was no different than starting at any other new rink, the skaters there a mix a familiar and new faces. With any luck, it would be as quiet today as Victor said, giving him a chance to test the waters. He didn’t want a repeat of Detroit, of moving to a new rink only to be cordial but distant with his rinkmates. This was Victor’s home, and he wanted to not only adapt to it but thrive, which meant getting along with the various skaters Victor was currently naming.

“...who doesn’t show up to practice nearly as often as he should, but makes the best practice playlists for open sessions. Yuuri, are you listening?”

“Ah, sorry, yes. You were saying? About Mikhail?” He’d only caught the skater’s name, but even that lit up Victor’s face, and Yuuri resolved to try and be friendly and encouraging with those he’d meet, if only to keep that smile on Victor’s face.

Despite the daunting size of the complex, the rink itself was much like any other: the smell of rubber mats, rental boots, and the cool, crisp air of the ice itself wrapped around Yuuri like a balm over his buzzing nerves. Even if the conversation around him was in Russian, the ice was ice, the language on it transcending any one country. It was open skate, Victor told him, extended hours for the holiday, and already the buzz had gone through the crowd, that Victor Nikiforov was back, that Victor Nikiforov was here to skate.

That Victor Nikiforov had brought that Japanese skater, the one that had stolen Victor away, won silver, then given him back.

Victor wouldn’t translate that last part for Yuuri, but years of listening to interviews, no matter what language he could get his hands on, didn’t leave so easily. “Return” was a familiar one, with news sites everywhere currently talking about their national hero and his proteges and challengers, of the future of Russian skating and what Yuuri Katsuki meant to it. 

“The staff should steer most of them out before the practice session starts,” Victor murmured in Yuuri’s ear as he steered them both towards the locker room, but Yuuri knew it was far too late for that. There was always another open skate session, time enough for word to get out. He knew his showing up without a coach at Nationals had caused a stir, especially as Victor had made his reappearance at the same time, reporters and fans alike buzzing with questions as to what this would mean for their careers and relationship. Yuuri had known they meant their coach and skater relationship, but with the ring still a new weight on his finger, it made him want to duck the question even more, giving vague non-answers that left just about everything open. This was no different, and on impulse, he reached back to grab Victor’s hand on his own, tugging them into the locker room he could see ahead of them. 

“Oh god, don’t tell me I’m going to have to start every day watching this.” Yurio was already on one of the benches, tying his skates and rolling his eyes as he caught sight of their joined hands. Yuuri tried to drop his hand from Victor’s, now that the door was swinging behind him and that they were in the locker room and his declaration was out in the open, but Victor kept ahold of it and brought it up for a kiss.

“Why, Yurio, I’d thought you’d be happier to have me back at the rink. After all, this way you get to keep a close eye on your competition, right?” Yuuri did manage to pull his hand back as Victor started teasing Yurio, the already familiar banter comforting as he sat down to unpack his own boots.

Others started appearing, hands raised in greeting and well wishes for the new year to each other, including Yuuri tentatively as they saw him and warmer as he did his best to return them in the Russian he’d recited back to Victor over and over that morning, trying to get his mouth and tongue to cooperate with the new sounds. 

The ice was freshly cleaned by the time they stepped out, only skaters and their coaching staff left around and on the ice. The buzz of gossip stopped and started around them, shut down by Yurio’s glare or hushed by Yuuri and Victor’s approach, and Yuuri did his best to ignore them and focus on the way that Victor seemed a different person here. He’d seen footage, of course, news teams covering practices in short briefs, but in the same way that the Victor he’d been faced with those first months in Hasetsu defied every expectation he’d had, the Victor here was yet another facet of the man he loved. The loose familiarity in his shoulders was mixed with the sharp gaze he always had when watching Yuuri run through a program and Yuuri realized with a jolt: _he’s fired up._ Victor’s skating at Ice Castle had been languid, even in its precision, a relaxed joy at simply being on the ice carried underneath every movement. That joy hadn’t left, but Yuuri recognized the competitive edge back in Victor’s gaze now. The mix was intoxicating, fizzing Yuuri’s blood as he pushed off the boards and began a few warm-up laps to get used to the feel of the ice and the layout of the rink. 

One of the younger skaters brought out speakers after calling out something Yuuri didn’t catch and started playing music. Mikhail, he guessed, from the mix of Eurobeat and Top Pop that carried in the cold air, had started skating quick loops around the rink, dancing with an enthusiasm that spread to the others as he passed them in their own warm-ups. It was soon clear why Victor had said Mikhail made the best playlists, his infectious energy bringing the entire rink out of the lazy haze that had lingered in the face of the continued New Year vacation and into focus. A pair that Yuuri vaguely recognized from the ice dance circuit lipsynched to the song playing as they twizzled in time past him, and he couldn’t help but grin, picking up his own skating speed to match the music and improvising a step sequence in time to the fast-paced beat. Exiting a spin, he felt a hand grab his and laughed aloud as Victor’s momentum sent them into another twirl, briefly breaking his spotting to make sure their path was clear. Then it became a game, matching each other’s moves and steps as best they could, their only clues the music and their knowledge of each other’s body language, the long months of watching which muscles tensing meant a crossover, which meant a spread eagle, and whether a spin would be a camel or a layback guiding them in their dance. Yuuri could feel Victor’s presence beside him on the ice, as clearly as he could feel a wide, laughing smile spread across his face as the song came to an end and they stopped, ending their spins to face each other, exhilaration breaking through the heavy breathing of their exertion. 

“Nice, but you know the track you’re on is men’s _singles_ , right? They won’t let you pull your gala stunt in actual competition.” From the sweat Yuuri could see starting to bead at Yurio’s temple, he’d gotten just as caught up in the music as they had.

Victor simply laughed, even harder as Yuuri sent back, “I would have thought you’d be excited for us to make our pairs debut, leaving you to the podium. It’s sweet you want us there with you.”

Yurio spluttered. “As if! The gold just wouldn’t count if you finally posed a challenge, only to leave in the middle of the season, that’s all! I want to show that the Grand Prix Finals weren’t just a fluke, that I’m better, that’s _all_!” His delivery was somewhat ruined by Georgi, who skated past and ruffled Yurio’s hair, muttering “upstart” as he went and nodding to Victor and Yuuri.

After that, the practice settled into something more familiar. Yuuri hadn’t practiced with other people on a rink in almost a year, but as with everywhere, skaters settled into preferred sides and corners of the rink, carving out their spaces as surely as they carved their elements into the ice. The laid-back air that lingered was enforced by Yakov, who had declared that his skaters weren’t to do any jumps over a triple as they eased themselves back into training after the celebrations of the new year, and from the way Yuuri could tell some of the skaters looked still hungover, it was one they’d stick to.

A week of moving mixed with celebrating meant that muscle groups twinged in new ways as Yuuri ran through compulsory figures, still simply getting used to the flow of practice and the atmosphere of the other skaters, his stamina and relaxed pace meaning he and Victor remained on the ice long after many of the others had packed up to head home. 

The speakers were still playing music, the playlist having changed hands from Mikhail’s upbeat workout to what sounded like songs for potential programs, likely for a pair as duets featured heavily.

Guitars strumming minor chords marked the start of a new song, vaguely familiar as Yuuri lifted his head from watching the shape of his figures to see how clear the ice was. At seeing it mostly empty, with Victor talking to Yurio and Yakov over by the boards, he relaxed and started skating to the music again, sinking into the beat of it. The strings pulled at him like a tide and he went with that flow, relying mostly on steps and single loops and slower spins before extending into an arabesque that carried him most of the length of the rink. Then, before he could release it, he felt warmth behind him, Victor’s hand at his waist as familiar as the scent of the sea. Victor’s momentum carried them further as the music deepened, the castanets like the crashing of waves on the rocks. After _Stammi Vicino_ , Yuuri had a sense of what Victor was leading him to, switching to parallel facing spread eagles before exiting into a backwards arabesque, pulling Victor towards him. 

Together, they spun and traveled the ice, never letting their hands separate throughout the choreography that flowed from them like the music from the speakers, leaving the spins and lifts and jumps for another song, another time that didn’t leave them craving contact. Finally, as the song started to fade, both vocalists trilling, Yuuri nodded to Victor, eyes intent and knowing Victor would catch his meaning. He knew he’d been understood when Victor moved from an arabesque, putting his toe pick down to pivot and leading Yuuri out to slide into a brief death spiral, the move one they’d only practiced briefly back in Hasetsu. The feeling of putting his trust and weight into Victor’s hands filled Yuuri as the music continued to fade, the notes echoing through him even as Victor pulled him up back into his arms. 

“Get a room, already! I’m going home, but you two idiots should know open skate starts soon, so you might want to move it off the ice quickly.” Yurio’s voice broke the spell, revealing that surely enough, everyone else had left the ice and there was a small crowd that could be seen out the windows of the rink, some with phones out. Yuuri groaned as he dropped his head onto Victor’s shoulder.

“What do you say, should we give them something else to tweet about?” Victor’s words tickled the hairs at the nape of Yuuri’s neck, and Yuuri could only grin a little helplessly as he caught the meaning in Victor’s words.

“Yurio’s going to kill us, yelling about how the ice is tainted now or something.”

But Yuuri was still grinning as he lifted his head from Victor’s shoulder and leaned in for a kiss, just long enough to be sure to set his claim, once again. They could say he’d given Victor back to the skating world, but this Victor remained his and only his, still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dance at the end is written to O Mare e Tu, and we will be seeing more of the rink!


	10. Ten Lords a-Leaping

More skaters were back at the rink during practice the next day, including Mila Babicheva, whom Yuuri recognized from the women’s podiums and from Yurio’s complaints, but instantly liked by the way she was draped over Yurio’s shoulders when they entered the rink. She had ignored Yurio’s scowl entirely as she commented on whatever was on Yurio’s phone from over his shoulder but straightened once she saw Yuuri and Victor enter the rink.

“Victor! Yuuri! Oh good, maybe you guys can help settle this debate.”

Curiously, they made their way over to her, where she thrust Yurio’s phone at them.

“I’ve been saying that Otabek and JJ have the same haircut, and Yuri here refuses to believe me, saying that they’re, and I quote, ‘totally different, not at all the same, do you have marbles for eyes or something’. But they’re definitely the same.”

“They are _not_!” Yurio squawked, reaching for his phone, even as Mila held it above her head, heedless of the fact that neither Victor nor Yuuri could see it up there. “Comparing anyone to that asshole is an insult to them; what’s Otabek ever done to you, anyway?”

“Oooh, Yuri, is that a blush I see? Don’t think Sara didn’t tell me about the way you cheered for him at the Grand Prix. I can’t believe you’re growing up and making friends!” 

Victor stepped in and plucked the phone from Mila’s hand, peering at it intently before angling it toward Yuuri, who had leant in against his side to see better.

“I can see the similarities, even if Otabek’s is better taken care of. Sorry, Yurio, Mila’s right, they do have the same haircut.” Yuuri passed Yurio his phone while Mila looked like her birthday had come early.

“Yurio,” she breathed. “Oh, that’s _excellent_ , so much better than Yura.”

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Yurio hissed, puffing up his shoulders that reminded Yuuri for all the world of a cat with its hackles raised. “I’ve had enough of these two calling me that, I’m not going to just let you spread it around the rink. I was here first! If anything, _he_ should be the one that gets a nickname!” He flung an arm out in Yuuri’s direction desperately.

“Nope, he’s older, he gets seniority. You already only let Yakov call you Yura; the rest of us need something to tell you two apart!”

“Seniority just means he’ll retire faster; I’m the one who won the Grand Prix this year, he’s still the one who should get the nickname!”

“Ah, but Yurio,” Victor cut in, smiling that shark’s smile that sent a chill down Yuuri’s spine, even as he tried not to laugh at Yurio’s expression at having it turned on him. “You forget that Worlds are coming up and that you could just as easily get bronze there. And then where would you be in terms of medal superiority?”

Yurio muttered something in Russian that Yuuri didn’t catch but had Mila laughing as he stomped off in the direction of the locker room, presumably to change into his skates. 

She turned towards them, welcoming Victor with a hug and after a pause, giving Yuuri one as well. “It’s good to have you back, Vitya.” With that, she turned to head to the locker room as well, leaving Yuuri and Victor alone. 

“Vitya.” Yuuri rolled the sound of it around in his mouth, testing it and deciding he liked it, especially the way that the tips of Victor’s ears pinked in a way that had nothing to do with the cold in the rink.

“Most of Yakov’s skaters call each other by nicknames, but Mila has always been especially fond of them.”

Yuuri nodded, just once, and decided that at the rink, Victor would still be Victor, but filed away the soft sound of Vitya for later, whispering the slight lilt of it when Victor’s back was turned.

Practice picked up from yesterday, the increased number of skaters mixing with the acknowledgement that Euros were right around the corner. Yakov’s ban on jumps had been lifted for those who had attended practice the day before and soon the rink was filled with the sounds of blades lifting off and hitting the ice. The Four Continents were still over a month and a half away, so Yuuri left the majority of the ice to the others, instead focusing on choreography and his step sequences. Victor joined him at first, and they traded off between mirroring Yuuri’s program and the one Victor had used at Nationals, eventually blending the two into each other in a strange mix of transitions. 

Before they could get fully lost in their own world again, Yakov called Victor over to the boards to discuss something in a low voice and Yuuri found himself joined by Mila. She looked at him curiously, then over to Victor and back again. “You know, we all knew he was acting differently this year, but we thought it was just the whim of trying out coaching. But it’s not: it’s you. He’s different around you.”

 _He’s different around you, too_ Yuuri didn’t voice, instead simply nodding at Mila, who continued, “no one missed how you’ve grown, too, but we’ve all been watching him for years. Most of us grew up watching him and thinking he hung the stars in the sky. So everyone’s been curious to see just what you’re like and what he’s like around you; everyone knows competitions don’t count, with all that swagger and tension making things weird.”

She winked as she skated a lazy circle around Yuuri, forcing him to turn to keep her in his sights. “So cut us some slack if we’re a little nuts about him and about you. Things’ll calm down, especially if you both keep up and skate like you have today. His skating’s different, now. He’s always been good, but today felt like watching him as a kid all over again, bright-eyed and hopeful and fresh, and that’s you. That’s what you do to his skating.”

Yuuri could only stare at her, mouth agape and face beet-red. “See, you know it as well as I do. He looks at you the way we all looked at him, so you better win gold at Worlds and prove him right. But don’t tell Yurio I’m rooting for you; he already thinks I’m a traitor.” With that, she skated away from him, effortlessly leading into a clean triple lutz that made Yuuri remember that she was the third-ranked women’s singles skater and had gotten silver at the Grand Prix. 

She gave him another wink as she exited the jump, skating away with a wave.

“What did she have to say?” Victor had skated back up to Yuuri, hovering closely as he took in Yuuri’s flushed face. “She didn’t threaten to break your legs or anything, did she?”

“What? No!” Yuuri turned, startled at the seemingly serious question. “No, she just wanted to talk to me about my skating, that’s all.” He looked at Victor curiously. “Would she really break my legs?”

Victor shrugged. “No one knows. No one’s been able to prove anything, anyway,” he said, pushing off and leaving Yuuri to wonder exactly what Yakov was teaching his younger skaters, that they all seemed so violent, and the older ones so dramatic.

Throughout practice, he caught Victor working on the new steps he’d seen him practicing back in Hasetsu and paused to watch. The steps still had a delicate smoothness to them, while the arm movements seemed almost frenetic, but they worked together; Yuuri had the sense of a tree in a storm, with its roots holding strong even as the branches danced in the wind. 

“Come on, katsudon, stop gawking and start skating; you’ll have plenty of time to look later.” Yurio was right; Yuuri had his own things to be working on, no matter how entrancing Victor was. He’d still been having trouble landing the quadruple flip in competition; he’d downgraded the element back to a quad toe loop for Nationals. It would make for a good statement for the rest of the skaters at practice: that he was here to compete and train seriously, no matter what they thought of him. He’d show them what Victor’s coaching had done, that his skating was a reflection of both of them now, as much as Mila had warned him that he was now a part of Victor’s skating. 

Making sure the ice was clear, he started an approach, launching into the flip from a series of quick crossovers. From the moment he launched himself into the air, it felt right, his core tight and legs snug beneath him and he knew the landing would be clean even before he was back on the ice and he realized the silence wasn’t just his being lost in his own thoughts.

Victor’s voice broke the silence. “Wonderful, Yuuri!” he applauded, as soft murmurs started up all over the rink.

“You were keeping your left shoulder further back that time. Keep doing that. It will help keep your rotations consistent and your core connected.” Yakov’s gruff voice carried over the ice easily, shocking Yuuri and the other skaters into silence, but none more so than Victor. He rushed over to the boards, startling Yakov with a hug. “Yakov!”

“You need to learn to catch these sorts of things as well if you want to keep playing at being a coach. I won’t have any slacking off at my rink, whether it be from skaters or other coaches, and you’re pulling double duty.”

“Yes, sir!” Victor’s voice held none of the teasing that Yuuri would have expected for the words, instead just respect and amazement, with the pleased tone Yuuri recognized from when he and Victor had completed a particularly good practice carrying it all. 

Yakov gave him a nod when he saw Yuuri still looking over at them. “Again.”

The acknowledgement swept through Yuuri as Victor nodded as well. “Yes!” he called back, knowing that he would and could carve a place for his own here as he set up for the flip again, assured in his movements and his support in so many ways.


	11. Eleven Pipers Piping

In all of his years, Yuuri hadn’t really thought much about what made a place “home” to him. There was Hasetsu, of course - he’d grown up there, his parents and sister still lived there, the onsen had even been passed down from his grandparents. But it was an automatic answer, one that had slipped further from his grasp the more he moved around. Dorms and apartments were fleeting, an answer to the question of where he lived, rather than where he called home. Five years away from Hasetsu had made it a blurred memory, one seen more in the background of Skype and Facetime calls rather than seen in his heart’s eye. Even when he’d returned it had felt temporary - more a place to recuperate and try and pull his intentions together with a background of familiarity than a place he felt he could stay.

Victor had changed all that, taking the familiarity and comfort of his family and the warmth that bubbled up in their every action and giving the town back the pride and love that had colored Yuuri’s early memories, back when he was young and Hasetsu had felt like the center of his whole world. He’d been born there, his skating had been born there, and he’d been reborn there. There was warmth in his gaze again as he looked out over the city after locking up Ice Castle after a long practice, Victor at his back.

But now, sitting in the kitchen of their new apartment, watching Victor heat up the food they’d picked up on their way back from the rink - an indulgence Victor told him to keep from Yakov, given the heaviness of the food the restaurants around them offered and one they couldn’t continue once they’d moved in properly and could buy food to prepare themselves - he felt that same warmth in his chest. In five days, a bare apartment had become a place he couldn’t wait to return to, a place to build a future from. Victor had given him that, the way that when he looked around the room, he already had memories cradled close, memories of Victor laughing helplessly on the couch, of brushing hair out of Yuuri’s eyes as he leant over the kitchen counter, of a deep debate of where exactly Makkachin’s bed would go or if they should simply give up early and just let him sleep in the bed with them from the start. 

They would make more, and Yuuri wanted each one, wanted as many and more than the ones he already had of Victor in Hasetsu, of Victor dragging him to stalls at festivals, getting him to explain every item of food and buy them, even if only Victor could eat them. Of sitting on the beach with Victor, watching the sun set in the summer, when even he couldn’t practice until sundown. Of Victor, claiming one particular corner of the bath and proclaiming it had the best view of the steam as it climbed into the sky. Of each roundabout conversation in which he tried and never quite got out what Victor meant to him, of the look in Victor’s eyes when Yuuri took to the ice instead, letting his body and his music communicate what his words couldn’t. 

These were the things that had made Hasetsu feel like home for the first time in years and if he had the courage, that would make Saint Petersburg feel equally like home. It had always been the people he loved and their actions, from his mother telling him to put a scarf on even in spring, to his sister walking Vicchan while he was at the rink, to Phichit making him watch The King and the Skater for the hundredth time - this time because the new release had extra audio commentary, that had made all the places he’d lived feel like more than just another series of hotel rooms. He’d always felt it, but as he’d had no words for it, hadn’t noticed, but now, listening to Victor ramble on about the skaters they’d met today and still had yet to meet, the places and parks they could walk Makkachin, he resolved to keep a hold of it, a hold of the people who made the places he lived home.

“What are you thinking of?” Victor had paused in spooning out the borscht to regard Yuuri, who had ended up staring out the window at the lights of Saint Petersburg.

 _How you are my home_ was far too cheesy to say out loud, but even as he thought it, he wanted to. “Yakov’s tip about my flip. How to keep raising my score to keep up with you at Worlds,” he offered instead. It wasn’t untrue, the worry of if he was good enough a constant undercurrent even in his competitive streak. “We’ll be competing on the same ice again.”

It had been his dream for so long and while it no longer carried the desperate dream to get his idol to notice him, the need to prove himself, to prove them equals, had become even stronger now that he carried the double duty of being Victor’s competition and representing what he and Victor could create together with Victor as his coach.

“I’d been meaning to talk to you about that.” Yuuri’s eyes widened in a question, but Victor just continued on. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to keep _Stammi Vicino_ as one of my programs for Euros and Worlds. But instead of using the solo as my free skate, I want to use the duet as my short.

“It won’t be quite the same, obviously, going from a free to a gala to a pair to a short program, but it felt odd, using old programs for this year. They didn’t feel right, after skating with you.” Yuuri could only stare, sure there had to be some disconnect between his brain and his ears, that he wasn’t understanding Victor correctly.

“I wanted to produce all new programs for Worlds, but there’s not the time I’d like - they’ll have to wait until next season - but I still wanted a program that had a piece of you in it.”

He’d moved forward to pick up Yuuri’s hand and kiss the back of it, clearly taking comfort from the action - almost as much as Yuuri did every time Victor initiated it - while Yuuri found his voice.

“Of course,” he finally got out. His voice sounded distant; he cleared his throat and tried again. “I mean, it was always your program to begin with, I just borrowed it. It’s yours.” _Everything of mine is yours._ “You should skate it.”

Victor smiled, the one he gave Yuuri when he thought he should be smiling because the situation called for it and it tugged at Yuuri’s heart. “It’s yours too, you know. You were as much a part of that choreography as I was. You made it your own and changed it. That’s what I want to reflect. I want to make sure no one forgets, just like I never could.”

It was the way Victor’s eyes widened in alarm that told Yuuri he was crying, even before he felt the tears slip over his cheeks. 

“Yuuri? What’s wrong?”

Yuuri waved his hands, jerking them out of Victor’s grasp to scrub at his face. “It’s nothing. I’m happy, I think.” He paused, taking stock of the emotions roiling through him and discovering that he was right. “I am. I’m happy enough to not want to believe it in case it’s not true, in case this is all just a dream and I’ll wake up, back in Detroit a year ago.” 

Victor’s hand was back, pulling Yuuri’s right hand away from his face to cup it gently. “Would you believe me if I said I felt the same?” As Yuuri simply stared, a half second away from shaking his head, Victor laughed. “That’s why I want to skate the duet, to make that clear, to you and to the world.

He wiped the tear that had slipped down to Yuuri’s chin away and pushed a bowl of borscht towards him. “Come, let’s eat before I have you listen to the music I want to pick a free skate for next season from.”

“What?” There had hardly been anything Yuuri thought would have surprised him more, but after this year, he was realizing that when it came to Victor Nikiforov, his life was destined to be one surprise after another. 

“I told you I wanted to produce a new program for this year. I’ve always produced my own programs since I entered the senior division, but I want you to be a part of it. I’m a part of yours; it’s only fair.” Yuuri wanted to argue that it wasn’t the same thing, not at all, but the intent look in Victor’s eyes swallowed him, erasing every answer but “yes”. 

“Great! We can listen to them while we pack for tomorrow!”

They ate in relative silence, Yuuri still reeling from the idea that he would help pick Victor’s next program. It was a thrilling thought, that both of their programs would have the other entwined, that he was equal enough to be intertwined within one of Victor’s programs, that Victor would be thinking of _him_ when he skated it. 

He was still mostly silent even after, only capable of monosyllabic answers as they cleaned up and moved to the bedroom. Packing wasn’t much of an affair this time, more marking down the things they’d want to or didn’t have to bring from Hasetsu, but Victor put on what had to be a playlist weeks in the making by its length, extending long past their finishing packing and finding them instead sitting on the bed, Victor’s arms wrapped around Yuuri as they watched the river out the window.

All of a sudden, Yuuri straightened, head all but smashing into Victor’s chin where it had been resting atop. “That one. Restart that one.”

It was a cello, starting with repetitive arpeggios that Yuuri realized was a cover of a song he recognized from rinkmate’s playlists back in Detroit, and he nodded along with it, waiting for the moment that had called out to him. Suddenly, it transitioned to a classical symphony, the cello joined by an orchestra, resolving and blending the two separate songs until they became one in a supremely joyous combination. 

He turned in Victor’s arms to look him in the eyes. “This one.” 

Victor’s smile was dazzling as he nodded. “I agree.”

Yuuri thought of Victor's skating from earlier, the sweeping arm movements paired with intense but solid steps. “That new step sequence you were working on today…”

“Yes, I had pieces of this song in mind when I thought of it. I’m not surprised you were able to tell.” Victor sounded delighted, his eyes sparkling as he watched Yuuri. 

Yuuri ducked his head, tucking it under Victor’s chin once again. “It’s a good song and a good step sequence,” he said, neatly sidestepping the praise.

“I thought of how you might interpret it, how you might dance to it. It’s always been you.”

Yuuri pulled back, slower this time, to look Victor in the eyes again, knowing his expression was giving too much away but not wanting to hide from the sincerity in Victor’s voice. “The world will know what you’ve given me. I’ll prove it; it doesn’t matter if it’s your gold medal or mine.” He leant in to give Yuuri a quick kiss, whispering against his mouth, “but if I’m honest, I want it to be yours. So the world can see what I do.”

The piece looped in the background as Yuuri pushed Victor to the bed, the joy and determination in his kiss echoed by every crash of cymbals and swell of strings.

In the morning, they closed mostly empty suitcases and prepared to leave for the airport. Yuuri watched as Victor circled the room, making final notes of the things they wanted or needed. _Home_ , he thought. Home had become the man in front of him, the ways they’d changed and settled against each other, and no matter where they were, that would hold true.

As they headed out the door, the box in Yuuri’s coat pocket lay heavily against his thigh. He was going to make sure, this time, that he held his home close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note, the final chapter will be delayed - I'm at a convention all this weekend (which is partly why this one is going up a little late), so won't have time to write. I'll try to get it out on Monday, because otherwise it won't be until Wednesday due to work and other things and I don't want to leave you guys hanging too long!
> 
> I also want to say that I'm absolutely floored and flattered by the reception; this was completely on a whim and has been clearly evolving as I've been writing it. It's by far the longest piece I've written, and I hope to do more, if not in this same circumstance, then at least around the similar themes of how Yuuri and Victor find and explore their concepts of love and home and skating in each other and the next season. Thank you guys so much for sticking with me!
> 
> The song picked for the FS is Beethoven's 5 Secrets (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJ_fkw5j-t0) with some creative cropping to make it an appropriate length for a FS.


	12. Twelve Drummers Drumming

As promised, Mari had been at the Fukuoka airport to pick Yuuri and Victor up when they landed, exhausted from the all-day travel. Victor had fallen asleep in the back almost instantly, leaving Yuuri to Mari’s talk of New Years and all the things they’d missed in the past week. And, of course, her questions.

“So?” Even with her eyes on the road, Mari somehow managed to give Yuuri the impression of the gaze he always squirmed under when they were younger. It was the eyebrow lift, he thought. That and the expectant tilt of her head.

“So what?” Yuuri gave a quick glance to the rear mirror, checking that Victor was still asleep. He’d slept on the flight as well, so Yuuri wasn’t sure how far he could trust Victor’s nap, but considering his own eyes kept threatening to slide shut, perhaps he could.

“So, did you come to a decision? And don’t try to lie to me, I see you twisting your ring even now.” Yuuri abruptly stopped, staring down at his hands, where he had, entirely unconsciously, been turning the gold band back and forth on his finger. “I might have helped you explain to Mom and Dad what was going on after Barcelona, but we both know between the way you both look at each other and the moving in together, the coach and skater thing’ll only hold up so far.”

Yuuri could only stare at his hands for a beat, watching the passing lights outside glint off of gold before finally nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. He deserves better,” he paused, about to start again before Mari cut him off.

“Oi. You deserve better, too, y’know. You deserve happiness just as much as he does - you shouldn’t just throw it away.” Mari’s voice was tight, and Yuuri noticed with alarm the way her hands clenched the steering wheel, her knuckles white in the night.

The words spilled out of him in a rush. “No, I just mean he’s done so much for me and given me so much that I owe it to him to be honest with him. And I won’t take back what these mean, I would never do that, I could never - I just want to add to it and make sure he wants what I do, that it’s not just a misunderstanding or just for a little while because now that I’ve had this much I don’t know that I could ever give it up.” He broke off, realizing his voice had gotten loud in the small space of the car. Anxiously, he checked the mirror again, but Victor was still asleep, in a different position than before but draped across the back at an angle that could only be comfortable in sleep and Yuuri sighed softly in relief. “I don’t want to give this up. He deserves to know that and hear it properly; I guess that’s all I meant.” 

For a while, there was only silence and the faded smell of cigarette smoke trapped in the car upholstery. Then, Mari leaned over to ruffle his hair briefly. “I told you I’m always rooting for you; that doesn’t stop at your skating.”

“Mari…”

“Also, you’re an idiot if you think he doesn’t know that or want it too. But you’ve always been an idiot about him, so it’d be weird if you stopped now.”

“Mari!” But Yuuri was laughing now, the weight of the box still in his coat feeling less like the weight it had become on the plane with only Victor’s sleeping silence and his own anxieties for company and more like a promise to look forward to, a sleepy Saint Petersburg sunrise and hope on the horizon.

Exhaustion caught up with them once they reached the onsen, swallowing them whole and the next thing Yuuri knew was waking up, far too late, with Victor tangled around him. Wildly, he looked towards his coat, draped over the sofa with its precious cargo, the extra weight drawing the side down in a way Yuuri hoped looked natural. Beside him, Victor stirred, clinging all the tighter to Yuuri as if that would somehow transport them back to Saint Petersburg and the time zone they’d only just adjusted to. 

Makkachin had other plans, though, after not seeing them for over a week, wriggling his way up the bed from the end where he’d slept, sensing that Yuuri was awake now. With a small bark, he flopped over both of them, the combination of warm, heavy dog joining with warm, heavy Victor and making Yuuri feel utterly at peace.

“We should take Makkachin to the beach,” he mumbled into Victor’s hair, running his hand up and down the sleep-warm skin of Victor’s arm until Makkachin nudged his head into it.

“Today? It’s January. It’s cold.” As if supporting his claim, Victor shivered and squeezed Yuuri more closely, shaking so exaggeratedly that Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh.

“As a treat to him. Besides, I thought you were Russian, impervious to the cold. It’s warmer than where we’ll be from now on; we should all enjoy it for now.” Makkachin clearly agreed, chiming in with another chuffed bark. “See?”

Victor shook his head, his words getting utterly lost in Yuuri’s chest. “What was that?”

No louder, but pulled back just far enough that Yuuri could make out the words and the small smile playing across his lips, Victor repeated, “that you two will be the death of me.” And even more softly, “and that I could never deny you anything you asked for.”

Yuuri felt his face burn, hiding his blush in the pillow and sinking further with every beat of his heart, drumming so loudly he was sure Victor could hear it even though his head was no longer pressed up against Yuuri’s chest. 

“We’ll grab something to eat and go before we head to the vet to get Makkachin’s passport and papers.”

Breakfast was a slow affair as they answered questions to Hiroko and Toshiya about Saint Petersburg, their flights, the rink, if there were enough markets and restaurants nearby, if they both had enough gloves and scarves, how Yurio was doing, and promises to take pictures of the finished apartment to go with the ones they’d sent of it empty. The sound of Victor responding in his careful Japanese to Toshiya’s rapid, accented comments about the soccer season that would be starting soon warmed him more than the rice and egg in his bowl, and Yuuri could feel the soft smile spreading across his face. They’d be back, as soon as the off-season; Yuuri wouldn’t let this slip through his fingers again, this feeling of truly belonging in a place and feeling comfortable and forward momentum a desire rather than a desperate need.

Yuuri looked up from his breakfast to see the soft look his mother was giving him and flushed, returning it with a soft nod as her eyes flicked to Victor at his side and down to their legs, pressed together under the table. Mari had been right - there were a number of people he owed the full truth to, but as always, as Yuuri suspected he ever would, Victor came first. 

As they headed out the door, Yuuri couldn’t help but laugh as both his mother and Victor handed him scarves and in a peace offering, took them both, wrapping one around Makkachin’s neck as soon as they were outside.

The shore was empty of people, the winter air and the lingering holiday resulting in Hasetsu feeling quieter than usual and making the continual wash of the tides up on the shore sound even louder. As Makkachin bounded ahead of them, seemingly uncaring of the chill, Victor and Yuuri settled upon the log that Yuuri had deemed “his” so long ago but as with so many things in Hasetsu, had become “theirs” in the past months. They watched the waves, watching as Makkachin darted back and forth trying to keep out of the surf and scooting ever closer to each other on the log until eventually they were leaning entirely against each other. With each moment that passed, Yuuri could hear his heart beating louder and louder, a drumline to match the crash of the waves and he thought to their impromptu pair skate in Saint Petersburg, to the song that had so reminded him of the ocean. There was still the sea, here and there, there would still be beaches, and he didn’t want to think of a time in which there wouldn’t be Victor.

So he stood, feet shifting slightly in the sand as he fidgeted and reached into his coat pocket. When he drew out the small, white box, Victor let out a breath that echoed Yuuri’s own exhale.

“So _that’s_ where it went,” he said, stealing the words and breath from Yuuri’s chest.

“Wha...what?” Victor was looking at him with wide, excited eyes, so far off of Yuuri’s expectations that he felt as if the sand beneath his feet had shifted further, tilting the world on its axis.

“I was looking for that before we left. I had a hope, when I couldn’t find it, that you’d taken it. And it looks like I was right!” Yuuri could only stare, agape as Victor shifted on the log, sitting up to look at Yuuri expectantly.

Yuuri could feel his mouth pull to the side, unsure if it wanted to go up or down, the nausea of anxiety suddenly frozen in the face of all his plans being thrown off track. He took a breath, taking cautious comfort in the thought that if Victor had wanted to grab this before they left as well, then they were still on the same page. That he should have nothing to fear.

Unfortunately, his stomach had other ideas, still churning as his heart raced, a staccato beat that made his hands shake as he opened the box and brought out the Faberge egg with its treasure inside.

“I know I still won’t get this right, but this season has meant so much to me. I’ve always loved skating and couldn’t imagine doing anything else, but a year ago, I didn’t know what I needed to continue or if this would be my last year on the ice. Then you crashed in and disrupted everything and I didn’t know what to do but go with it because when would I ever get this chance again? And you showed me how to recognize the feelings I had no names for, of love and home and pride, of confidence and how to give to others those same feelings.” He paused, drawing in a deep breath, knowing he should look up and into Victor’s eyes, but still too scared to break the moment and his own momentum.

“You’ve probably had someone translate the interview before the Grand Prix series started, with my theme, by now, but I said then that you’re the first person I wanted to hold onto and keep by my side. And I know it’s selfish to want to keep you all to myself, but Victor,” he said, finally looking up into Victor’s eyes and almost drowning in the depth of emotion he saw brimming there, behind a sheen of tears.

He faltered, but pressed on. “Victor, will you let me be that selfish? I don’t want to let you go, I want to skate with you forever, even if only against you for this year, just so long as I can wake up with you, and skate with you and be with you and watch you mistake the salt for your sugar in the morning and sneak chocolates after practice because everything I learn only makes me love you more. Will you stay by my side and never leave me?” 

The silence stretched after Yuuri finished, his words drowned out in his own ears by the drumming of his heart as Victor just stared at him.

Then, all at once, Yuuri found himself tackled to the sand, feeling it start to work its way in between his layers of clothing and utterly not caring because Victor was on top of him, crying and laughing at the same time, and Yuuri’s heart felt fit to burst out of his chest with a joy greater than even standing on that top podium, gold around his neck.

“Yuuri, that was perfect!” Victor leant closer, peppering kisses in between each of his words. “Absolutely. Perfect.” He threaded his fingers under Yuuri’s head, cradling it above the sand, and out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri could see Makkachin making his way over, wondering why his humans were on the ground, shaking with laughter.

“So...is that a yes?”

“Yes. Yuuri, of course it’s yes.” Victor kissed him, long and deep and Yuuri could feel himself drowning in it even as it felt like drifting safely back to shore, like a long, easy arabesque across the ice into waiting arms. “You gave me back skating, gave me back my life. You are my home no matter if we live here or in Saint Petersburg, and it would be my honor to skate with you forever.”

He pulled Yuuri up so that they were both sitting on the ground, so that Makkachin could press himself up against them and not knock them back over. The egg, still safely in Yuuri’s hand, opened once again to reveal the rings, plain and gold and perfect as Yuuri slid one on to Victor’s left hand and Victor slid one on to his. After a moment of staring at how their joined hands were adorned with symbols of their love, no matter which hands were connected, Yuuri found himself pulled into a tight hug, his head tucked under Victor’s chin and ear pressed close to his chest. Victor’s heartbeat, racing as quickly as his own and all but dancing sounded like music, and Yuuri had a thought of whether the ISU and skating world would blink if he used love as a theme two years in a row.

Eventually, the combination of cold sand, cold wind, and cold dog got to be enough and Victor stood, extending a hand down to Yuuri to help pull him up, pulling him close into a warm hug again.

“Shall we go home?”

Yuuri nodded, twining his fingers between Victor’s. “Yeah.” A smile broke across his face, wide enough to make his face ache but he had no chance of banishing it. “Home. That sounds nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhhhh, we're done! Thank you so, so much again to everyone who commented and kudos'd and subscribed and bookmarked and supported in every way to the completion of this fic! In its beginnings, it was a joke on Twitter and was supposed to be short, daily vignettes, each chapter definitely less than a thousand words as a challenge to keep writing while on vacation and somehow it ballooned into this. I cannot express how grateful I am that you guys came along for the ride and stuck it out. I'd love to do more with the two of them in Saint Petersburg and learning each other and their future and future seasons and hopefully if I do, it'll be a bit more cohesive between the beginning and the end products and draws in all the other characters more because I love writing them - this entire cast is so great, truly.
> 
> Here's hoping for a season 2! ♥


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